Accidental Drag Queen & the Undercover Detective
by T. Fowler
Summary: Jonathan Crane escaped from Arkham and started a new life in Chicago. Then was forced to start over yet again. Bruce Wayne goes undercover to bring him back to justice. Wayne/Crane
1. Chapter 1

Dr. Jonathan Crane, also known as the villain Scarecrow, escaped from Arkham Asylum on November 2, 2005. It wasn't an elaborate breakout. No one was killed or gassed or even hurt. The guards and orderlies were distracted by a riot started by the Joker and encouraged by every other dangerous inmate.

In the resulting confusion, Crane walked out of the asylum with thousands of dollars worth of medication. Then, despite Bruce's expectations, he disappeared off the face of the earth. There were no reports of drugs that turned users into terrified, huddles masses. No widespread panic among any populace. There weren't even any reports of the chemicals needed to create Crane's toxin being stolen. It was as if Crane just didn't exist.

Bruce two theories to this mysterious disappearance. Either Crane had gotten himself killed, or he'd left town and was planning to cause mayhem somewhere else.

He was betting on the latter. And even though his main jurisdiction was Gotham, Bruce felt that Crane was his responsibility. So he kept an eye out for reports of people suffering from the effects of Crane's fear toxin.

About a year after Crane had disappeared, one finally came in.

Douglas Fletcher, a medical assistant at a private practice in Chicago, had been found in the office, huddled in the corner. His heart rate was severely elevated, and he'd had to be sedated in order for anyone to treat him. Even on awaking, he'd exhibited signs of extreme terror and both visual and auditory hallucinations. According to the newspaper article, there was evidence of drugs in his system, but it wasn't anything familiar to the treating doctors.

Bruce forwarded the article to Fox, who, in turn, contacted the doctors with what he knew about Crane's toxin. Apparently, it was a match. Fox sent the antidote and Bruce began to plan.

This wasn't like when he'd gone to Hong Kong to get Lau. Back then, not only did he have Gordon's blessing, but he'd known exactly where to go. Bruce knew Crane's general location; he didn't know it specifically. He didn't want to go into Chicago as Batman, cause a big stir, and then drag Crane back. This called for a little more discretion.

So. Bruce Wayne officially came down with a case of something serious and confined himself to the mansion, out of sight. For two weeks, Bruce prepared, changing his appearance (hair dye, make-up, and facial hair) before leaving for Chicago with a new identity: Private Detective Jack Sullivan who was working a missing persons case.

That missing person would be found and brought back to justice.

* * *

Jonathan groaned as he came back to consciousness. A pain was knifing through his head and his back and neck ached.

"You back with us, Sugar?" a soft voice cooed. "Just take it easy now."

He blinked open his eyes, feeling them stick together. They were dry and scratchy. Painful. "What's wrong with my eyes?"

"Hang on a sec." A cool hand laid on his forehead. Pulled up his eyelids. "Looks like you got a pair of contacts in there. I got some solution to wet them down. Hang on."

Jonathan closed his eyes again and furrowed his forehead. Now that he was more awake, a thousand other pains were clamoring for his attention. His legs felt as if someone had sanded the skin off them; same with his hands. His back and stomach both felt bruised, and it hurt a little to breathe.

"Okay, Sugar. I'm back." Fingers pried at Jonathan's eyes. Cool liquid dropped in, easing the stickiness and flooding his vision.

"That's good." He wiped his eyes and sat up. Groaned.

"Easy there." A big hand pressed against his back to help him. "There's a pillow behind you. Settled against it."

Jonathan did, wiping the last of the saline solution from his eyes. He looked at his companion.

Orange hair was piled on top of her head. Her eyelashes were very exaggerated, long, black, and painted with glitter. Her lips were just a shade off of her hair , flawlessly lined with a brilliant shine. Eye make-up, foundation, and blush were applied with a heavy hand.

Her clothes were just as gaudy: a formfitting black lace top with a red frilly bra edging out of the neckline, fishnet stockings, skin tight red leather skirt, and stiletto heels.

She wasn't bad looking, though. Attractive in an unorthodox way. It took a third glance to realize that she was a he.

He took that in stride. If he remembered correctly, he'd been in an area with a lot of bars, looking for easy prey. He still had money from his previous employment, but he believed in saving for the future. It was easy to lift wallets from drunks, and until he found something more permanent, it was the quickest way to earn money.

Apparently, one of the bars he'd passed had been a drag club. And somehow he'd ended up in it.

Not just in it, but behind the scenes. He looked like he was in a dressing room of some kind. It was stuffed clothes racks overflowing with garish costumes. Bras, stockings, boas, and feathered fans were flung on every available surface. Jonathan was sitting on an overstuffed couch, satin pillows at his head and feet. Across the room was a dressing table, make-up and jewelry strewn across. Above it was the mirror which gave him a good view of his injuries: scrape on his forehead, bruise near his chin, along with the fading bruises around his neck from before. His face was pale and practically clashed with the over-bleached straw on top of his hair from a bad dye job. His contacts made his eyes an unnatural green and the whites around them were bloodshot.

He looked exhausted. Felt exhausted.

Jonathan pulled his eyes away from the mirror and back to the drag queen. "What happened? Where am I? Who are you?" He blushed as soon as the words left his mouth, hearing how clichéd he sounded.

She didn't seem to care. "I'm Cherry Augusta. You're in my dressing room at Dreamgirls, and you were hit a car. Me and a few of the other girls were outside smoking when it happened. The jerk drove off. We couldn't find any identification on you, just your prescriptions and a wad of cash, so we figured that maybe you didn't want any attention from the authorities. But, if we were wrong, someone can take you to the hospital."

He shook his head. "No. I'd rather not. I'm fine, thank you."

Cherry smiled in understanding. "Hope you don't mind me asking, but when I was cleaning off your scratches, I saw those bruises you have. You got someone treating you rough?"

Jonathan pressed his lips together. Looked at Cherry blankly.

"All right, then. You don't have to say anything." Cherry slid off the couch. Put her hand on Jonathan's shoulder as she passed him. "When's the last time you ate, Sugar? I can practically count your ribs."

"I ate this morning. I'm fine." His stomach grumbled, betraying him. He'd eating that morning, but only a muffin and a cup of coffee.

She didn't say anything as she opened the refrigerator. It was fully stocked with food and, a moment later, Jonathan had a plate of fruit, meat, cheese, and crackers and a soda. "You even got a place to stay?"

Jonathan shook his head. "Did. Not anymore." He took a bite of cracker and cheese. Swallowed. "I've been staying where I can. There's plenty of abandoned buildings around."

"You have a job?"

He snorted. After nearly a week living in abandoned buildings and washing in bathrooms, he'd acquired the grungy look of someone without permanent habitation. Cherry must have been being polite.

"So, is this about the man that hurt you? You run away?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "It wasn't a boyfriend or anything if that's what you're thinking. I had some trouble at my last place of employment. I'm just having momentary difficulties securing a new job."

"You always talk like you've got a stick up your ass?"

He looked up at Cherry from under his eyelashes. "I suppose."

She reached over and plucked a strawberry from his plate. "So, what's losing your job have to do with losing your apartment? You that behind on rent?"

"It's complicated." He'd gassed the idiot at work and been forced to run again. So far, he hadn't left the city, but he knew he was pushing it. Somehow he knew that as soon as the Batman found out he was alive and operating, even outside of Gotham, he'd come for Jonathan.

Which was ridiculous. He'd been completely within his rights to hit that animal with his fear toxin.

The thing that made it worse was that job had been perfect. Jonathan had been working medical transcriptionist for the practice. He'd had his own little office in the back, secluded and away from everyone. Two days a week, he'd worked from home, but the main thing was he had access to the drugs he needed to keep the hallucinations left over from his exposure to his toxin. The doctor hadn't kept the exact pills he needed at the office, but between those that were stocked at the office, and Jonathan's access to a prescription pad, he'd been able to make what he needed easily.

And now that was gone. He was left with three prescription pads which were, of course, extremely traceable, and some vague plans of getting a hold of the chemicals he'd need in the future. Very vague, as in not even half thought of dreams at this point.

He was kind of fucked thanks to that asshole Fletcher. No pun intended.

So, when Cherry just looked at him with a raised eyebrow, Jonathan gazed back with one of his own. He could match look for look any day. He'd been a psychiatrist; staring had been his job.

Finally, Cherry shrugged. "Well. It always is." She watched Jonathan as he ate a cracker. "You're really pretty, you know. Buzz has been trying to get someone with your kind of looks in here for awhile. A man who can do a pretty woman."

"You're kidding, right?"

"About offering you a job?"

"That the guy who owns this place is named Buzz."

Cherry laughed. "Buzz iloves/i dressing in woman's clothes, but he doesn't like the whole renaming himself. Just likes the clothes. So he got into the business. I'm a performer, along with about five of the other girls. The opening we have right now is for a waitress."

"You have the authority to hire someone?"

She nodded. "I'm a manager, too. It seems like you need a job, and I'm in the position to give you one."

"You don't even know my name. You know nothing about me."

"Well. What is your name?"

He hesitated, then said, "Sean Miller."

Cherry smile. She obviously knew that it was fake. "You wouldn't be the first person who ended up here because they were running away from a bad situation. Buzz gets that."

"I've never dressed in drag before."

"It's not hard. You just put the clothes on. We'll help you. You won't be asked to perform, just serve some drinks and smile at the customers. Buzz keeps it safe, and, anyway, we mostly get women in here, looking for some entertainment. You wouldn't have to worry about anything."

Jonathan considered it, turning the idea over in his mind. His eyes slid over to the dressing table, covered in make-up and wigs and jewelry. If he took this job, he wouldn't have to leave the city. He'd have a disguise without being disguised. And who would suspect it? Who would ever look for Dr. Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, in a drag club?

"All right," he said. "I'll do it."

* * *

Fletcher was still in the hospital due to visual hallucinations. Bruce found him in his room, sitting by the window, looking out.

Bruce knocked. "Mr. Fletcher?"

The man turned. Flinched violently before closing his eyes. After several deep breaths, he opened them again. "Sorry. Come in."

He stepped inside and pulled out his fake ID. "I'm Detective David Mills. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

"Uh, I guess. This about Patrick?" Something dark flashed across his face when he said the name.

Something about that look and the way he said his attackers name set Bruce on edge. He sat on the edge of the unmade bed across from Fletcher. Pulled a notebook from his pocket. "Patrick Barnes, yes. Also, possibly known as Jonathan Crane, or the Scarecrow." He frowned when Fletcher closed his eyes and jerked away. That was about the fifth time now. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Yes. Sorry." He waved a hand over his eyes. "The medication or whatever from Wayne Enterprises took the whole… terror thing away. But I'm stuck with these damn hallucinations. Things flying at my face all the time. People looking like their face is melting. I'm not terrified out of control, but it's… difficult."

Right. Bruce remembered Fox telling him about people who'd been affected by Crane's toxin, the ones who didn't get the antidote within two days, suffering from hallucinations. There didn't seem to be a cure for that, although Bruce knew there were still people working within Wayne Enterprises and Arkham, among other places, trying to find a cure. Or, at the very least, a medication to counteract the effects.

"Do you know why Crane hit you with the toxin?"

He was certain he saw a smirk before Fletcher schooled his face into one of bewilderment. "I have no idea. Patrick… Crane… whoever he is, he was always… quiet. Just sat back in his office all day, never talking to anyone. Didn't even ever eat lunch with the rest of us. I mean, I liked him, we all did. He was polite. Smart as hell. But none of us has any idea what he'd do, you know?"

"What happened the night he did it?"

Fletcher let out a breath. Closed his eyes again, swatting an invisible something from his face. "Um, well. It was Friday night, after hours. Patrick was in his office." He cleared his throat. "He always stays late on Friday, finishing up. It was my turn to make sure everything was restocked for Monday, so I stayed late, too. When I was done, I….I…I went back to say good-bye and he just, uh, just blasted me in the face."

It was as if Fletcher had read a book on signs of lying and decided to try them all in one conversation.

"The two of you had never fought before that? Had an argument?"

"No. Like I said, we hardly talked. And when we did, it was all polite. He was polite, like I said. Cold. Like he thought he was better than everyone."

That sounded like Crane. Except, he'd never really attacked without provocation. Yes, there'd been the inmates at Arkham, but those hadn't been attacks so much as… experimentation. Illegal, yes, completely and utterly immoral, but not random attacks.

There was something more going on here. Something more than one coworker bidding goodnight to the other, only to be attacked.

"What did he do after?"

Fletcher swiped his hand in front of his face. "Uh, I don't really remember. Stood over me for a little bit, watching as I screamed. God, his face was so…" He swallowed. "Then he left. I was left there, lying on the floor, screaming until I passed out. Woke up here." He rubbed his face. "I thought someone else was working this case," he said.

"I'm private detective," Bruce said, rising. He flipped his notepad shut. "Arkham Asylum hired me to help track Crane down. Thanks for answering my questions, Mr. Fletcher."

"No problem. I just hope some catches that little shit."

And there was genuine emotion. None of the 'he was a nice guy' or 'we all liked him' mouthing from before. There, on Fletcher's face, was the truth: disgust, anger, frustration, and a twisted kind of longing.

It made Bruce's stomach bottom out. It was hard not to punch Fletcher, just for that look, which wasn't fair. He was the victim, after all. And yet, there was more to this story. He wanted to find out what. Not that it mattered, in the end, of course. Crane was an escaped convict and mental patient. He was going back to Arkham no matter what.

But if Fletcher had done something to provoke Crane… anything illegal, well. Bruce was a champion for justice. In or out of Gotham, criminals would pay.


	2. Chapter 2

"And a Ruby Slipper for you and Midnight Express for the bride-to-be," Jonathan said as he placed the drinks in front of the women. He looked around the table of mildly sloshed women and plastered a smile on his face. "So, your food will be right out. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"You're pretty," one of the women, the maid of honor, said loudly. She got to her feet and slung her arm around him. "Are you really a guy?"

Carefully, Jonathan unwrapped the woman's arm from his neck. "Yes, I am," he said, not changing his voice from the softer one he used while in costume. "And if you don't sit back down, sweetie, I'm going to have to cut you off for the night."

"I'm not drunk, I swear," she said, still practically shouting in his face. "Are you allowed to dance? Cause I'd love to dance with you." She touched her fingers to his face.

His smile became more forced. "I've got other tables. But thanks for the offer." He removed her hand from his face and left.

"Very good, Sugar," Buzz said when Jonathan returned to the bar. "I didn't worry once that you were going to douse them with a drink. And you kept your smile the whole time. Cherry was right about you."

Jonathan gave a shadow of a smile as he leaned against the bar. He eased one foot out of his shoe and flexed his toes, rolling his ankle.

Buzz was about forty-five and liked to be called by the nickname he got in college, even in drag. He was married and had a five year old kid. His wife knew about Buzz's habit of dressing up like a woman and was fully supportive. She even came to the club once in awhile.

His style was conservative, at least while at the club. He wore dress suits or tasteful cocktail outfits. His make-up wasn't nearly as overdone as the performers (or even some of the waitresses). No one ever mistook buzz for a woman, though. There was something incredibly masculine about his face, even with the eyeliner and lipstick. He didn't have a female name and didn't want to be called by feminine pronouns; he was a man, and proud of it, he explained to Jonathan, he just loved women's clothing.

He'd been hesitant to hire Jonathan at first. Even though he was in the practice of hiring people who needed a job and quickly, he wasn't sure about taking someone off the street with no ID. Jonathan promised to produce ID the next day (he'd bought five identities when he'd left Gotham).

And then Cherry suggested an audition of sorts. She'd dressed Jonathan up, gave him a wig, did his make-up, and then showed him off to Buzz.

He'd been hired immediately. Cherry had taken him home with her; the next day, Jonathan had retrieved his spare clothes, IDs, medication, and toxin canisters and moved into Cherry's spare room.

His training lasted two weeks. There was a large supply of clothes at the club that the waitresses were welcome to use, but Cherry thought Jonathan would be more comfortable if he had some of his own. She and the others at the club taught him how to dress, do his make-up, and walk. With Jonathan's own natural economy of movement, he appeared feminine without trying. It only took a day or two to master heels, although he insisted, for his own comfort, on low heels. Most of the waitresses used them, anyway.

His only real difficulty was interacting with the customers, and that's what had Buzz continually watching him like a hawk. Jonathan was not, by nature, a patient man. He hated talking to people, much less wait for them to make up their minds on a drink or dinner. And having to answer questions was almost physically painful to him.

He got no tips at all the first two days he worked. The third day, he was tipped five bucks by a man who thought Jonathan was "the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Buzz got more complaints on Jonathan the first week than he'd ever received on anyone before.

That's when Cherry and another waitress, Raven, sat Jonathan down.

"Look, Sugar," Cherry said, "you've got to shape up and fast or you'll be out of a job again. You can't scowl and snap at our customers. You don't make them happy, they don't stay for the show, and if I don't get my applause I'm a bitch."

"She really is," Raven agreed. Raven was a few years younger than Jonathan and, like Jonathan, was easily transformed into a pretty girl with a dress and a few smears of make-up. She'd been working at Dreamgirls for two years, had met her current boyfriend there, and, for some reason, had warmed to Jonathan right away. She was bright and witty, with a quick mind. Almost tolerable in Jonathan's opinion.

"Look," Raven continued, taking Jonathan's hand. "Customers are nothing but marks. They're like babies. Mental patients. They need someone to listen to them, to guess what they want, to smile and tell them everything will be okay."

"You're an actor just as much as I am," Cherry said. "When you put the dress on, you become someone else. You're not Sean Miller anymore. You're Sugar, a beautiful young ingénue." Cherry ran her knuckles down Jonathan's cheek. "Put a smile on that pretty face, darling. Save the scowling for home."

Jonathan had listened to their advice. Taken it in. He spent the next night sitting at the bar, in drag, even though it was his night off, and watching Raven and the other waitresses. Watching Raven as she flirted and smiled with the customers. Saw how she watched her tables, watched everyone from the corners of her eyes and, through the observation, anticipated her customers needs.

He could do that. Jonathan had been Arkham Asylum's youngest director. He'd been a renowned psychiatrist. He could figure out how to wait a table.

The next night, he did a lot better. He was patient. He anticipated needs. He had water and drinks and food and condiments to the table before his patients even knew they needed it.

"Just work on the smiling," Buzz told him at the end of the night while Jonathan counted his tips.

So he did. In the mirror. As he walked down the street in costume. He even came in on his next night off and sat at the bar, talking to customers as Sugar. Men and woman since, contrary to his initial expectations, the club's clientele wasn't exclusively gay men. On any given night, it was a good mix of both gay and straight. Gay men and women came, of course, but also a lot of straight women. Some straight couples came, but it was rare. Even more rarely did straight men come in. Usually, they were already drunk and either a) didn't look at any of the posters outside or b) came looking for trouble. That hadn't happened since Jonathan had started working, but Buzz and the others had warned him.

So, Jonathan practiced. He flirted. He smiled. And, gradually, it got easier. When he put on Sugar's clothes, Jonathan melted away a little bit more. Sugar was soft, gentle, wry, teasing. She called people, "sweetie" and "honey" and "dear." She didn't mind touching people and being touched.

It was kind of surreal, but in a strange way, Jonathan enjoyed it. It was… nice, taking a break from being himself.

Buzz put his hand on Jonathan's forearm, drawing him back to the present. "As soon as their food comes out, go take a break. Shana will watch your table."

"Thanks, Buzz." Jonathan slipped his foot back into his shoe and smiled.

"And I'll let the bartender know that those girls are cut off."

"Thank you," he said again, this time with real feeling. Jonathan picked up his tray and resumed his work. When he returned with the food, he managed to evade the grabby hands of the bride's friends. The fact that the show had, again, begun helped distract them.

"I'm going on break, so if you need anything, Shana will get it for you," Jonathan said to the cheering mass of women.

He got no acknowledgment, but he hadn't expected any. With a sigh, he headed back to the dressing room for his break.

The image in the mirror across from the sofa was much different from the one two weeks ago. His hair was still blond, but his wig was a darker, more honeyed blond than the mess he'd dyed his own hair. It actually complemented his skin tone, making it seem more delicate and pale than washed out. The foundation helped as well, of course, as did the blush that roughed his cheeks. His eyes were still green and almost as startling as they'd been when they'd been blue. Eye-shadow and liner made them sparkle and false eyelashes gave him a starry eyed look.

His lips were fuller than normal, drawn bigger with lip liner and ruby red lipstick. Dangling pearl earrings framed his face, a pearl choker encircled his neck, making it look long and swanlike. His outfit tonight was a deep turquoise, sleeveless Grecian-style dress that gathered into an empire-style waist with a darker blue band embroidered with white starbursts. The same starburst decorated the neckline, and the bottom of the dress was a light, gauzy material that flowed as he walked. His stockings were nude and held up by an unseen garter belt that (God helped him) matched the dress, and his shoes were the same blue with small crystals glued onto the toes.

He wasn't sure how it made him feel, other than like a different person. The person he didn't so much mind, since he did need a break from being Jonathan, at least for awhile, but the clothes themselves…

Cherry had talked his ear off about the myriad of reasons people dressed in drag. How for some it's arousing, some it's a way to express themselves, to break free of boundaries. For some, it was stress relief and some had no reason, they just did.

Jonathan needed a job. This was a way to get money and not have to move again.

But the act of transforming into Sugar did something to him, he knew that. He just couldn't articulate what.

Raven came in just then. Grabbed him by the foot. "Let's go out for air," she said, nodding at the backdoor.

Jonathan groaned. "Can't I just stay?"

"Costume change is coming up. It's up to you." She grabbed her purse from its locker and slung it over her shoulder. "Come on, Sugar."

The door opened again, signaling the oncoming tidal wave of frantically changing drag queens. Jonathan was up and out the back before the first one came.

"Good girl," Raven laughed. She closed the door and sat on the step. "You still don't smoke, right?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes and sat next to her. Raven had asked him the same question every night. She was lucky that Jonathan didn't gas her.

Raven lit his cigarette and lifted it to his mouth. "I think Alex is cheating on me." He dropped his stage voice. Reached up and eased his wig off, setting it on his lap. Underneath, his hair was nothing but stubble, shaved close. It looked strange against his make-up.

"Oh?" Jonathan normally didn't care about his coworkers personal lives, but he found himself receptive to the drama of Dreamgirls. Even petty things like this.

"Things have been different lately. I don't know. He's just… distant. We don't talk. We don't fuck. He says he's just tired from work, but it just…" He sighed. Taped some ash from the end of his cigarette. "You got anyone?"

"No."

"Cherry said you were all banged up when she found you. Did you have a boyfriend who beat you or something?"

"No." Even in a casual conversation like this, Jonathan found it difficult to drop his softer voice. When he was in the dress, he was Sugar and couldn't switch like Raven did.

Raven cut his eyes towards Jonathan. "Are you gay?"

He had no answer for that. He'd never been in a relationship before, preferring work and study over everything else. Once, in college, he'd been dragged to a party by his roommate. He'd spent most of it, sitting on the couch, watching everyone get drunk. Around midnight, a girl had sat next to him and, with almost no warning, started kissing and rubbing on him.

It'd been… all right.

As for sexual attraction, he supposed he'd felt it before. There had been people he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off, people who'd made him feel hot and aroused. He had wet dreams, and had to masturbate on occasion. He just never really thought about it beyond momentary feelings.

"I don't know," he finally said. He looked away.

"Are you bi?"

"I don't know."

There was silence. Then, "Well, if you ever want to find out, you know my number. I'd be happy to do some experimenting with you, Sugar."

Jonathan suppressed an embarrassed smile. "You have a boyfriend."

"Tonight. That might change."

"Oh." He tapped his nail on his teeth. "Have you tried confronting Alex? Asking him?"

"Oh, yeah. Just walk up and say, 'Are you cheating on me?' Yeah, right."

"Maybe you could start with something less inflammatory. Make a date with him, something simple, and then tell him your concerns. Not about the cheating, but… say you feel like you've been growing apart. Tell him how you feel, but don't be accusatory about it."

He sighed. "What if I'm right? I don't know if I could handle it."

"What if you're wrong? What if he's just tired or stressed? What if he needs his boyfriend and doesn't know it? You say you love him. Are you willing to throw everything away on a suspicion?"

Raven sighed. Flicked his cigarette, then brought it to his mouth. He didn't say anything, but Jonathan could tell that his point had been made. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd given the advice, why he'd gotten involved, but it'd felt right. It felt like something Sugar would do.

"Okay. I think our break is over." Raven put his wig back on then stood. "Ah, dammit!"

"What?"

"The door's locked. Buzz said he was going to get this fixed." She tugged it again, then pounded on it.

Jonathan rose, smoothing down his skirt. "You don't have a key?"

"No. Left it inside. Fuck! I think they went back on." Raven turned and leaned against the door. "Okay, so we gotta trek around the front. I should have propped the door open."

"It's not that big a deal," Jonathan said. He moved up the steps and reached up to adjust Raven's wig.

"It's nearly a half-mile to the end of the alley. You got your phone?"

He didn't even have a phone, but he didn't inform Raven of that fact. Just shook his head.

Raven sighed. "Maybe this time, Buzz will follow through and fix the door. Come on."

"Can't we cut through another club?" Jonathan asked as he trailed behind Raven.

She shook her head. "Well, we can, I guess. But it's a hassle. They're not, like, homophobic or anything, but sometimes they give us trouble. Make it harder for us to get back to work. It's better just to walk around." Raven slipped his arm through Jonathan's. "So. Are you a virgin, Sugar?"

His face went up in flames. "What?"

"Well, you don't know if you're gay or bi. Have you ever had sex? Girl or boy."

"I'm not going to answer that question."

"Oh, come on. I won't tell."

"Yes, you will…" Jonathan broke off in a startled shout as he was yanked away from Raven.

An arm fell over his neck like a heavy iron bar. The other was pressed against his face, pressing hair into his eyes.

"Give me your purse, and I won't hurt her," the man holding Jonathan said.

Jonathan tugged at the arm, trying to pull it away, to breathe. His heart pounded wildly and he could feel the anger building in him.

"Okay, man," Raven said, voice shaking. "Just let her go. I'll give you my purse. Just…"

"Hand it over!" he shouted.

The shout echoed in Jonathan's ear. Filled his head until it was overcome with a rush of rage.

He growled, a low, animalistic sound without words. His nails dug into the man's arms and, in a swift movement, Jonathan lifted his foot and slammed it back down in his assailant's instep.

"Fuck!" the man howled. His grip loosened enough for Jonathan to elbow him in the stomach.

The arm let go. Jonathan whirled and brought his foot into the man's groin. As he did, he reached under his skirt. Yanked the canister of fear toxin strapped to his thigh in a gun holster.

"You fucking bitch!"

The side of the gun hit Jonathan in the face. Knocked his wig askew and him off balance. He stumbled. Dropped the canister.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" He jumped on Jonathan, pushing him against the wall. Hit him again with the butt of his gun.

Jonathan spit in his face. Struggled against him, clawing and scratching and kicking.

Raven threw himself on the attacker. Pulled him away from Jonathan.

Jonathan threw himself onto the ground, scrambling amongst trash for his fear toxin. He could hear them scuffling behind him, hear Raven loosing.

His fingers closed around the canister. He turned.

The attacker was looming over him.

In one swift movement, Jonathan covered his mouth to avoid exposure to the toxin and pressed the button on the canister. The toxic cloud hit the man in the face and a moment later, he was on the ground, screaming.

Jonathan leapt to his feet. Raven was slumped against the wall of the alley, face bruised and bloody.

"Come on," Jonathan said, grabbing Raven's hand. "We need to go." He took one last look at his fallen assailant who was still writhing and screaming on the ground and then ran.


	3. Chapter 3

"_You are a dancing queen, young and sweet only seventeen,_" Jonathan sang to himself as he mixed a drink. Then he realized what he was doing and scowled. Fucking ABBA night. It always seemed no matter how hard he tried not to, he always ended up singing along with the performers. He didn't even like ABBA, and yet, somehow, he knew all the words. They were insidious.

"Here you go," he said, sliding placing the drink on the waitresses tray. "Did I forget anything?"

She shook her head. "You got it all, Sugar. Thanks." With a smile, she lifted the tray and walked to serve her table.

Jonathan smiled at her back. It was almost second nature by now. Only when he was in costume, but at least Buzz didn't have to watch him constantly anymore.

When Jonathan had insisted on returning to work the day after the attack, Buzz and the rest had argued against it. He was bruised, somehow he'd hurt his ankle, and he couldn't stop trembling. They thought it was with fear, but Jonathan knew better. He was furious and it hadn't faded.

He'd insisted, though. He didn't want to stay at home, raging at the walls. If he was Sugar, he could control it, control the Scarecrow in him. Jonathan couldn't, not since the Batman had sprayed him with his own toxin. Before that, when the rage came, he'd been able to keep it down. Now, nothing did.

Except for Sugar. Which is why, despite gassing the guy who'd tried to mugged them, Jonathan wanted to stay. He… appreciated the serenity that came with the wig and dress, the short respite from both the roiling rage of his Scarecrow side and the social awkwardness off Jonathan.

He didn't have separate identities. He wasn't disassociated. He just gave names to the predominate emotions he felt: rage, awkwardness, and serenity.

Buzz had argued with him for about ten minutes, but Sugar was a master now of deflecting any word that wasn't the one she wanted to hear. So, finally, he'd relented and let Jonathan work. But not waitressing. Instead, he started training Jonathan at the bar. All he'd done the first night was watch, sitting to take the weight off his ankle, and take notes. The second night, he got to start mixing drinks. He'd picked it up quickly, much to Buzz's surprise. Jonathan wasn't, though; it was easy memorizing drink ingredients after having spent so many hours mixing chemicals. Same theory, different medium.

Now, nearly five days after the attack, Jonathan was running the bar almost by himself. He'd been given a raise and made better tips. It was a win all around.

He pulled a rag from under the bar and began wiping it down. The next drink order would be up in a moment, but he hated if the bar got even the slightest bit sticky.

The door opened. A man about six foot or so stepped inside. He paused to talk to the hostess before coming in further, heading for the bar.

Jonathan watched him. He had the look of the rarest type of Dreamgirls customer: a straight man who wandered in by mistake. His gait was straight and direct, so he wasn't drunk. Probably just thought this was a strip club. The girls at the front never set anyone straight.

He slid onto a barstool. "Hey," he said, smiling. He had a friendly looking face, kind of broad around the cheeks and nose with a sandy blond goatee and mustache. His hair was the same sandy blond highlighted at the tips. He had hazel eyes that sat behind a pair of fashionable silver glasses.

Jonathan smiled back, studying the man from below his eyelashes. There was something familiar about him, but Jonathan couldn't place what it was. "Can I get you anything?" he asked.

The man picked up a drink menu. His eyes widened as he read it over. "Uh. Got any beer?"

Jonathan took the menu from him and closed it, turning it to the back. "There you go."

"Sugar!" Melody, one of the few genetically female waitresses, came over waving a drink order. "Please, please, please before the show? Please?" She batted her eyelashes, leaning on the bar.

Jonathan moved away from the straight man and plucked the slip out of Melody's hand. She wanted six drinks in five minutes. "You are adorable," he said. "Ivory, I need your help." He waved the slip at the other bartender then turned back to the straight man. "Do you mind waiting just five minutes, sweetie? I promise I can give you my undivided attention after I finish with Melody's crisis."

The man grinned. "Take your time."

For some reason, it felt only natural to blow the man a tiny kiss before turning away to start on the drinks.

"Who's that?" Ivory asked, sotto voce, as they mixed drinks.

"Some customer. Straight, I think."

Ivory sighed. "He's gorgeous. You sure? I mean, he's checking you out."

Jonathan felt his face warm. He couldn't stop the look he threw over his shoulder.

The man was indeed watching him, expression appreciative.

His face even warmer, Jonathan turned away. "Maybe he doesn't realize I'm a guy." He placed a drink on the tray and started the next.

"Maybe. He has that look. But too bad." She glanced over at Jonathan as she put a drink on the tray. "Is it true you're a virgin?"

"Raven hasn't been to work since the attack. How do you know that?"

"We talk on the phone, baby girl. And it's nothing to be ashamed of. Is it just boys you're a virgin to, or everything?"

Melody crashed dramatically in front of them, throwing herself across the bar. "Two more minutes, guys. _Please_."

"You're an annoying little pest, honey. Whining at use won't make us go faster," Jonathan said not stopping his mixing. "What's your hurry?"

"Last one to get the drinks out before the show has to do bathroom check. I _hate_ doing bathroom check."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Oh no, you might have to stick your head in the bathroom and make sure it's not a mess. How will you survive?"

"I don't see you volunteering to do it."

He shook his head and turned his attention back to Ivory. "When did you talk to Raven?"

"We talk almost every day. There's this great little device called a cell phone that allows people to keep in touch with each other. Might want to look into one."

No, he really didn't. Cell phones could be traced, and while he knew he could get a prepaid, he didn't see a reason. It's not like he had anyone to call.

"So, Raven called you to discuss my personal business."

"Actually, she texted everyone."

"_Everyone_?" He stopped mixing, aghast at the idea that his personal information was being strewn around so carelessly by people he worked with. Maybe he did need to skip town.

"Sugar, it's okay," Melody said. "We're a family here. It's not a big deal."

Jonathan forced himself to finish mixing the drink. "It's not your personal life," he said coldly. He shoved the drink at her, then turned away.

The rage was back, making his hands shake. Hands, arms, everything. He clenched his fists, facing the back of the bar, trying to control it. It wouldn't do to lose it here, he couldn't. Just had to push it all down and forget it.

Besides, he rationalized. It wasn't like they were talking about _him_. They were gossiping about Sugar. And about Sean Miller. Neither one of them actually existed. It was an act, and he had to act like he didn't care. Sugar probably didn't.

Except she did. She did because he did.

He grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured himself a shot. He wasn't a big drinker, never had been. How that he was on medication to stop the damn hallucinations left over from the fear toxin, he almost never drank.

But it steadied his nerves and helped the rage abate some.

"You okay?" his customer asked when he returned.

Jonathan gave him a smile. "I'm fine, sweetie. You decide what you want?"

"I'll have a single malt Scotch."

"That's not a beer."

The man just smiled.

Jonathan got the drink and brought it back. "Did you want anything to eat?"

"I ate earlier, thanks." He looked around as the lights in the club dimmer.

The thumping sound of ABBA's _Waterloo_ came on. A cheer came up from the audience.

Jonathan leaned over so he could be heard and said, "If you need anything, just give me a wave."

He didn't realize how close he'd leaned until the man turned his head. They were scant inches away, so close Jonathan could feel the man's breath on his face.

He was wearing colored contacts, Jonathan noticed. One had slipped ever so slightly, revealing a sliver dark brown underneath.

The man smiled a kind of crooked smile. "How long have you been working here?" he asked.

"Why? You been here before?"

"No. Just asking. You're very pretty, by the way. I didn't realize that you were a man at first. The girl at the front was a woman, and you look…" He flushed suddenly. "I'm being rude."

Jonathan couldn't help the smile. "It's okay. I just do this for the money, I'm not trans. You can say I look like a woman, I won't be insulted either way." He tilted his head. "Most guys like you split after realizing they've stumbled into a drag club. Afraid they might catch cooties."

His smile deepened. "Guys like me?"

"Straight?"

"Are you so sure of that?" He looked up flirtatiously at Jonathan through his eyelashes.

Hmm. Maybe he'd been wrong. "I made an assumption. It's very rare we get a young, handsome man who comes in by himself. When that happens, they've usually walked into the wrong place."

"Ah." He lifted his Scotch and took a drink. "So, your name is Sugar."

Jonathan just smiled, lowering his eyes.

"Do you have a name when you're not at work?"

"I do." He straightened up, still not looking at the man.

As if sensing he'd made a faux pas, the man quickly said, "I'm David. David Mills." He held out a hand.

Now Jonathan did look at him. Even took his hand to shake it.

To his surprise, David pulled his hand closer and kissed the back of it.

His throat went dry, and his heart began fluttering oddly in his chest. He didn't know why. Maybe it was the drugs interacting with the vodka.

Jonathan extracted his hand from David's. He found he couldn't look at him. "I, uh… Um…"

"Hey, Sugar. Can I have midori sour?" Raven asked, sliding on a stool near David's. He was dressed in baggy jeans and a white tank top.

"Raven. What are you doing here?"

Raven shrugged and glanced at the stage where his boyfriend was performing. "I felt like getting out. Besides, Alex has been worried. Thinks I'm spending too much time moping over what happened."

Jonathan started mixing Raven's drink. "Have you been?"

He shrugged again. Pulled out a cigarette and toyed with it, even though he couldn't smoke inside. "Naw, I'm okay. Just tired, you know? Buzz told me to take time off, so I did, and all the sudden, all I want to do is sleep. But it's been two years since I had any time off, so I figure I deserve it." He looked up at Jonathan. "Heard you didn't take any time off."

"Some text that to you?" he asked archly.

"Huh?"

He cut a glance at David, who was watching them avidly, and shook his head. "We'll talk later. Let's just say that Ivory was telling me about a text she got from you. About me."

Raven's brow furrowed a moment in thought. "Oh, right. Dude, we're family here. Besides, if everyone knows, then maybe someone can help you."

"It's not something I need help with." He slid the drink to Raven.

"Well, it sure ain't something you can take care of on your own," Raven mumbled into his drink.

Jonathan's fingers itched to pull out his toxin. He even caressed it through his dress, but refrained. He only had left what he'd liberated from the lower levels of Arkham. It was a precious commodity, not to be wasted on something as trivial as this.

Ivory came over. "Hey, huh." She leaned over the bar and pressed a kiss to Raven's cheek. "How you doing?"

"Why is everyone so worried about me? Sugar's the one who had the gun to her head. I just stood there." His voice was bitter. Frustrated.

A waitress came up with a drink order. Jonathan took it from her as she kissed Raven on the cheek and asked how he was doing.

"I'm fine," he said. "It was almost a week ago." He sighed. "God, I feel like it's my fault. I'm the one who closed the door. I'm the one who wanted to go outside." His nose wrinkled. "It's my fault you were hurt, Sugar."

Jonathan bit back a sigh. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. "Raven, it's over, okay? In the past. It's normal to feel guilty. If you'd been hurt, it's how I'd be feeling." Lie, lie, lie. "But I'm fine. So, if you start feeling bad again, just remind yourself of that. I'm fine."

"And you forgive me?"

He hesitated before the psychiatrist in him provided the right words. "There's nothing to forgive you for, but if you need it, then, yes. I forgive you." He finished mixing the drink and slid it to the waitress. Then, needing to get away from the uncomfortable discussion, he turned back to David.

"Do you need a refill?"

David slid the empty glass to him. "You were attacked?"

He bit back a sigh. "Someone tried to mug us. It was no big deal."

"Is that why your face is bruised?"

Jonathan's hand flew to his cheek. The swelling had gone down, but he still had ugly purple and green bruises on his face from being hit with the gun. He'd thought the make-up was covering them, though.

David hesitated, then reached out. His thumb brushed very lightly next to Jonathan's eye. "Your make-up rubbed away right here."

His skin tingled and heart began fluttering again. Jonathan pulled away and covered the spot the other man had touched. "Yes, that's why my face is bruised." He took David's empty glass and filled it. "You're very observant."

"Uh, well, it's part of my job. I'm a private detective." He took his drink back.

"A private detective," Jonathan repeated. He cursed internally. The last thing he needed was a detective poking around him for any reason.

"Yeah. You know, I'm working a missing persons case right now. Did you hear anything about the man who died in the alley out back about a week ago?"

Jonathan froze for a moment, then pulled his rag from under the bar. "I think I did," he said, wiping down the bar. "Yeah. Died of a drug overdose, right?"

"Actually, he was poisoned." He swirled his Scotch around the glass before taking a drink. "How'd you get away from the mugger?"

Jonathan blinked. It seemed like an abrupt shift in topic, but Jonathan knew they were related. He just wondered how the detective had made the connection.

"Well, I know some self-defense. I managed to get free of him, and then Raven and I ran."

"Did you see anyone else in the alley? Or someone go in after you?"

"Does this have to do with your missing persons case?" Jonathan asked. His fingers were itching again, and he touched the canister against his thigh.

David took another swallow of his drink and shrugged. "It could. The poison used was… familiar to me."

"Oh. I always thought the PI business would be mostly following around cheating husbands and finding lost puppies." He accepted a drink slip from Melody.

David laughed as Jonathan began mixing the drink. It was an easy drink, so he was able to study David from under his eyelashes.

That nagging feeling of familiarity was back. Like he'd seen David before. Or, not David, but…

Okay, the eyes were dark. Hair was dyed. Maybe it'd been lightened. So, dark hair, dark eyes. And the face…. There was something familiar about it, but different. The facial hair was throwing him off.

The show ended. The audience began applauding. Jonathan finished mixing the drink and handed it off.

David was watching him.

Jonathan couldn't help the blush. "What?"

"I'm sorry. You just… you're so elegant. The way you move. You should be up on stage."

"Oh, no. I am not a performer." He grabbed a glass and poured himself some water. "Did you need anything else?"

"Um, just…" He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Have you ever seen this man?" He unfolded the paper.

Jonathan found himself looking at a picture of him from his days as the director of Arkham. Kind of this man not to flash any of the pictures taken after that, taken during his trial when Jonathan had been dragged to court in a straight jacket, flinching and weaving from the invisible bats and crows attacking him.

He licked his lips, forcing himself not to react. "I think I saw him in the paper. Didn't he do something in Gotham some time ago?"

"Yes, he did." David was watching him closely, eyes never leaving Jonathan's face. "He released a toxic gas on part of the city. I think he might be in Chicago."

He widened his eyes. "You do? I assume he's dangerous."

David hesitated, then said, "He can be. Under the right circumstances."

"Right circumstances?" What would those be, Jonathan wondered. If someone got in his way? If someone pissed him off? What might this man think were the right circumstances?

Suddenly, Jonathan's stomach did a nose dive. A detective searching for the Scarecrow. _Oh God_.

"I don't think I've ever seen him before," Jonathan said. "Not in person."

"Did you see him when you were attacked?"

"I didn't notice anyone going into the alley after us. But I kicked the mugger pretty hard. He was probably down for a few minutes. Maybe after?" His palms were sweaty. He clutched the canister more tightly, all the while trying to convince himself that what he was thinking was insane. Absolutely insane.

David narrowed his eyes a moment, his mouth tightening in a way that was frighteningly familiar.

But Jonathan was nothing if not composed. While his Scarecrow instinct was to scream and yell and gas the man in front of him, both Sugar and Jonathan squashed that down. Jonathan let Sugar, flirtatious, serene Sugar, take over him, presenting a pretty face for the detective.

"I guess that's a possibility." He tucked the photograph away. "I didn't mean to scare you."

He laughed, high and lightly. "You tell me a maniac who poisoned half a city might be hanging out near my place of work, then you tell me you didn't want to scare me? I just hope he doesn't have anything against men wearing women's clothing."

David raised his eyebrow. "I really doubt that he's cares one way or another."

Good call, detective.

"Sugar!" Buzz called from the other end of the bar. "Have you taken your break?"

Jonathan glanced over at Buzz and waved, grateful for the out he'd suddenly been given. "Well, I'm going on a quick break. If you need anything, just ask Ivory."

"All right. Just stay out of the alley."

"Don't worry, I will, detective."

David grinned at that, then raised his glass to his mouth.

Jonathan grabbed Raven's hand as he passed, tugging him. Raven obliged, following Jonathan to the dressing room.

"What's going on, Sugar?" he asked as they wove through the hoard of performers to find a quiet corner.

Jonathan turned to face him. "If anyone asks how we got away from the mugger, don't mention me spraying him in the face."

Raven blinked. "Hon, you already wouldn't let us press charges. What does it matter now?"

"That man in there? He's a detective. A private detective, but still. I accidentally killed the mugger and I can't have anyone finding out."

"Are you in trouble?" Raven asked, putting his hands on Jonathan's shoulders.

He thought a moment how to phrase things, then said, "I'm hiding from someone. I can't have any attention drawn to me."

Raven accepted this at face value and nodded. "Is that detective looking for you?"

"Not me," Jonathan said, and it wasn't exactly a lie. Just not the whole truth. "But I don't want attention.

"All right. Is there anything you want me to say?"

"If he asks you about a man going in after us, just say you didn't notice. You were too scared or whatever."

"Sounds about what happened. I will do whatever you want. After all, I owe you my life."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "A bit of an exaggeration, but thanks."

Raven grinned and leaned forward to give him a kiss. "By the way," he whispered. "I think that man likes you. He hasn't taken his eyes off you once."

He blushed. "I… Uh, I…"

"If you were looking for a way to rid yourself of your little problem, I think the answer is sitting right outside nursing a Scotch." He gave Jonathan another kiss, then ran off to greet his boyfriend.

Jonathan swallowed. Took a few deep breaths and tried to ignore the fluttering his chest that came back in full force at Raven's words.

* * *

Bruce peeled the goatee from his chin, wincing; even with the spirit gum remover, the goatee didn't want to come off easily.

He was feeling the effects of the alcohol now. He never drank anymore, but after five days of fruitless searching for any sign of Crane, he'd felt… indulgent. Plus, the waitress had such a pretty smile, he'd been easily swayed.

The waitress. She… he… whatever. She'd been a pretty little thing. Beautiful smile, charming personality. Bruce had been drawn to her strongly. After her break had ended, she'd spent most of the night filling drink orders, too busy to talk to him. He'd watched her, watched her elegant movements, the way she moved her hips in time with the music. She'd start mouthing along with the songs, then wrinkling her nose in disgust, as if realizing what she was doing. It'd been adorable.

Bruce washed his face, then dried it, walking to the bed. The hotel room was mid-price, which got him the basics: a bed, a TV, wireless, a refrigerator, bad coffee, and privacy. He'd had to buy a VCR, which were almost impossible to find. He'd almost stolen it from Fletcher's apartment, but figured that the man might report a missing VCR. He wouldn't, however, report the loss of tapes of him raping people.

He tossed the towel on the bed, then went to the closet. He actually had to steel himself a moment before he was ready to reach inside and pull out the box of tapes. Fletcher had made six tapes. Five people on each tape. Thirty people. How the _fuck_ did someone rape thirty people and not get caught? Bruce couldn't understand.

He didn't understand why he was watching the damn tapes, anyway. Whatever doubts about what had happened between Fletcher and Crane had vanished the moment Bruce had pressed play on the first tape. He almost hated to admit that Fletcher had gotten off too easily. Crane was obviously dealing well enough with the visual hallucinations, so Fletcher would, too. The man deserved to be punished more for being such a monster.

At the same time, Bruce had to be sure. Maybe Fletcher hadn't raped Crane. Maybe Crane had found out about Fletcher's extracurricular activities and decided he'd make a good research subject. While Bruce wouldn't blame him, it didn't make it right. Fletcher belonged in prison, not subject to an experiment on fear.

So, Bruce watched. On fast forward, of course, although there wasn't much to the actual rapes. Fletcher had drugged all his victims after the first tape, so it was just watching this monster fuck a bunch of unconscious men and women. Not that it made it less disgusting, but there weren't screams of terror to listen to. Not like on the first tape.

It was still torture.

At least he was closer to finding Crane, now. Closer than he'd been five days ago. Crane had something to do with the attack on Sugar and her coworker. He knew that Sugar was lying about what happened, Bruce just wasn't sure exactly about what. Had she seen Crane? Had Crane been the one to help get her away? Or was it simpler than that? Maybe Crane was working at the drag club in some capacity. It'd give him a great disguise, and it wasn't as if it'd be hard to turn him into a woman. The man had very delicate features, was extremely pretty. Throw on a wig and some make-up and it'd be easy to pass him off as a woman.

Bruce snorted suddenly, a thought occurring to him: what if his pretty waitress _was_ Jonathan Crane?


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Sorry at how long this took to get out. Work is a nightmare right now, so updates will be coming slowly. Thanks for the reviews and the support! I really appreciate it.

* * *

Jonathan opened his eyes, the remnants of his dream dissolving around him. If they weren't nightmares, he never remembered his dreams, but he had the strong impression that the detective from the night before had been in this one. The memory of his smile lingered in his mind's eye, making him uncomfortably warm.

He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Tried to push his body's reactions away, ignore them, pretend they didn't exist.

He'd long ago accepted that his body was only human. That, like most human males, Jonathan's body went through the usual cycle of erections throughout the night, which most often resulted in waking with one. Most of the time, he ignored it. He was an early riser by nature, and for some cursed reason woke every morning at six o'clock on the dot no matter what time he went to bed the night before. And no matter what time Arkham demanded he be out of bed.

Thus, Jonathan had time to calm his body and will away the unwanted inconvenience. It was very rare he took a more physical action to relieve the pressure; it was too messy, too mundane. Jonathan prided himself on being a creature of the mind. He was above the need for physical gratification.

And he wasn't going to do anything while thinking of the man trying to take him back to Arkham Asylum, no matter how nicely he smiled.

Eventually, the tension in his body subsided. His erection faded away, and he was able to sigh and relax.

He was still tired but probably wouldn't be able to get to sleep again for another hour or so. So, he rolled onto his stomach and reached underneath his futon.

Cherry only had a one room apartment but had offered up her futon to Jonathan. Had insisted, of course, because she was a mother hen and Jonathan was her new fluffy chick. He didn't like it, but he appreciated having a place to sleep, even if his room was a section of the living room that Cherry had blocked off with a screen. He had a bed, a couple of cheap storage drawers for his clothes, a laptop, books, and solitude. Sort of. It was serviceable. For now.

His hand brushed against something hard and plastic as he grabbed his laptop. He shuddered and promised for the thousandth time that he'd destroy that video tape soon. He had no idea why he still had the damn thing. The night Fletcher had attacked him, Jonathan had taken the tape so no one would ever see it. He hadn't meant to watch it, although he did the first time Cherry had left him alone in the apartment. And after he'd watched it, he hadn't intended to keep it. But he had. He just didn't know why.

Jonathan quickly pulled the laptop out. As he opened the laptop, he unconsciously wiped the back of his hand on the bedspread. His skin crawled anytime he thought of Fletcher. Thought of what had happened that night. Which he tried not to. It was past.

When the computer had booted, he typed in the URL for the Gotham Times. It was a mix of the usual dreck: crime was up, the mob was evil, people did drugs, there were homeless kitties that needed adoption, and there was another for DA coming up. What Jonathan found more interesting was what was missing. Namely, the Batman. Nothing from the night before. Or the night before that. Scrolling back through the archives revealed the last article on the Batman had been over almost a week before, and that had been an article speculating on the sudden disappearance of the Bat.

There was a cold, sick feeling in his stomach. Jonathan swallowed and clicked over to Gotham News. Combing through their archives revealed the same thing: the Batman had disappeared about two weeks ago. Just a little bit after Fletcher's attack. When Jonathan had used his fear toxin to defend himself. To punish him for what he'd dared to do.

Jonathan swallowed, feeling slightly nauseated. The idea that his detective was the Batman had flitted across his mind the night before. But he'd brushed it away as nonsense. The Batman didn't exist out of Gotham city, pure and simple. He couldn't. Gotham accepted him because Gotham was a twisted mass of cancerous growth on the face of the earth. There was something sick and wrong about the city. It had turned him into the Scarecrow. It had spewed the Joker out of some pit. It'd created the Bat, and it contained him as well.

Except it obviously didn't. He was here. All the available evidence pointed to the fact that he was here. In disguise and hitting on Jonathan.

He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths. Pressed the palms of his hands together as he replayed last night in his head.

David had come in and sat down. Ordered a drink. Talked to him. Raven had said that they were flirting, but it hadn't been intentional on Jonathan's part. That's just how Sugar was.

But it wasn't how the Batman was. The Batman kicked down doors and punched in faces until he got the answers he wanted. He grabbed people by the hair and dragged them around. Dropped them off two story buildings and broke their legs. He didn't flirt. He caused pain.

Okay, obviously, the Batman had an alternate identity. After all, there was a man behind the mask, a deeply, psychologically disturbed one. One would have to be in order to do what he did. Well adjusted people did not dress like bats.

David Mills was not the Batman's alternate identity. Even with his obvious mental problems, the Batman wasn't stupid. He wouldn't go undercover to another city using his own name and face. The hair was dyed, the eyes were covered in contacts, the name was faked. Plain and simple.

Jonathan needed to leave. To pack his meager belongings, shed his identity, and leave. Before Cherry woke up. Leave without saying good-bye and without looking back. It was the only logical course of action. Even if the detective was not the Bat, he was still looking for Jonathan. Leaving was the only prudent thing to do.

Except…

He hadn't figured out that Sugar was really Jonathan. And he'd spent the whole night talking to and watching him. Jonathan knew his make-up was really well done and his dresses and undergarments gave him curves that distracted. The performers were impressed by his movement and his voice was, to quote Buzz, "deceptively feminine and almost arousing."

But a detective made his living on observation. If he was looking for Jonathan, one would think he'd see him in Sugar.

But he hadn't. If he had, Jonathan would be on his way back to Gotham right now.

There weren't many people as smart as Jonathan. He'd known that since he was in elementary school, when he'd been forced to suffer the inferior instruction from dull minds. In high school and university when he'd continually come out light years ahead of his peers on exams and essays. Even when he was a professor or head of Arkham, his intellectual superiority had been clearly evident. The only person who'd ever come close to matching him was Ra's Al Ghul and that association had been ultimately brief.

If Jonathan could outthink the most noted intellectuals of Gotham University, then he could easily do so to David Mills, nobody PI.

Jonathan closed the laptop and placed it back under his bed. Damn if he was going to leave the life he'd carved out before he was ready. It wasn't a perfect situation, but he was content with it. Besides, he'd done nothing wrong.

And if the detective ever tried anything with him, well, Jonathan had ways to deal.

* * *

Bruce's heart gave a funny stutter when he saw Sugar behind the bar. That did not bode well for anything. This was a job he was doing. He was only here to look for Jonathan Crane, that was it. This was the best lead he had so far, which is why he was back. He wasn't here to pick anyone up, especially someone like Sugar.

Bruce had long come to terms with the flexibility in terms of sexual proclivities. Despite his long held love for Rachel, he hadn't been a monk. There'd been people, both men and women, in Bruce's life. Never for very long, and generally not more than once or twice, but they'd been there. The first time he'd been propositioned by a man, he'd been surprised, but having left Gotham to expand his life experience, he hadn't turned it down. And he'd found he quite enjoyed the feel of another man against him.

But this was… complicated. Sugar was involved in his investigation of Crane's whereabouts. Was, in fact, a possible suspect, as farfetched as that seemed. He couldn't let himself become too attracted.

It was a busier night than the one before. It looks like there were two bachelorette parties and maybe one birthday. Lots of groups, lots of people. There were more people out on the dance floor, too.

Bruce found a spot at the bar. To his disappointment, another waitress took his order while Sugar mixed drinks further down. She didn't even acknowledge that he was there, but she may just not have seen him.

Ah, well. The night was young. He ordered a drink (no alcohol tonight) and some food, and sat back to watch everyone around him. First, he'd try and find the guy Sugar had dragged to the back with her when she'd gone on break the night before. Raven, the one who'd been attacked along with Sugar. He had a few questions for him.

While he looked around, he might as well try and spot anyone who might fit Crane's looks. About five nine, slim, amazing eyes. Really, the eyes would be the only thing to give him away if he was in drag. They were quite noticeable. Of course, Crane probably knew that, too. If he was smart, he'd be wearing contacts, just like Bruce was.

This would be a lot easier if Sugar would tell him if she saw Crane the night of the attack. And didn't turn out to be Crane himself.

"Hey," a voice said in his ear.

He turned to find a waitress next to him, her dark black hair spilling over her shoulders. "Hello."

"I'm Raven. We didn't get to meet last night." She held out a hand, palm down, for Bruce to take while she balanced a tray with the other hand.

Just the man… girl he was looking for. "Raven. It's nice to meet you."

"You here for Sugar?" she asked with a knowing smile.

He lifted a shoulder. "I wouldn't mind talking to her," he admitted. "But I wanted to talk to you, too. About the night you and Sugar were attacked."

Her brow furrowed. "Is that the only reason you're interested in Sugar? Because you're looking for some guy and think we know where he is?"

"Do you?"

She shook her head. "I didn't see anyone that night. Besides the mugger. Sugar said she may have seen someone as we ran out, but I was too out of it with panic to notice." She licked her lips and glanced over at Sugar. Then she leaned in and whispered, "I think Sugar really likes you. She's just, you know. Shy. Inexperienced. But she got all flushed last night when she was talking about you, and I saw the way you couldn't tear your eyes away."

He shifted uncomfortably, trying not to blush. "Um… she's beautiful. And…"

"And if you want her, you're gonna have to do all the work. You look like a nice guy, so that's why I'm telling you this. She's my friend and I want her to be happy. But, if you do anything to hurt her, I'll cut off your dick."

"All right," he said, smiling in embarrassment. "Message received."

"Good." She cocked her head. "You didn't answer my question before. I mean, I know what I saw yesterday, but I'm an actor. I know how easy it can be to fake your emotions. So. Are you interested in Sugar or just using her to find your man?"

He swallowed. Felt heat rising up the back of his neck, prickling his scalp. "Like I said, she's beautiful. And there's something… intriguing about her." He lifted his drink and took a sip. "Yeah, I'm interested."

Raven broke out into a smile. "Then go at it, detective." He leaned over, pecked Bruce's cheek, and then waltzed away.

Bruce watched her go, amused by her. He had no doubt that she'd come after him if he ended up hurting Sugar. The waitresses here seemed close. Plus, Raven and Sugar had been through a traumatizing experience together; that sort of thing could forge strong bonds.

Sugar had been flustered after talking to him, Bruce mused as he turned back to the bar. While he knew Raven had told him to encourage him, Bruce couldn't help but think there was a more probable reason for Sugar to be flustered than attraction.

She had information about Crane. She hadn't reacted very much when Bruce had shown her the picture, but there'd been a slight tightening of her mouth. Her eyes had closed slightly, like she was flinching.

She had information. Had seen him. Maybe was him.

Bruce sighed and lifted his drink to his lips. As he did, he glanced up, across the bar, searching for Sugar.

She was looking at him. Her brow was furrowed, and she was frowning. Looking upset.

He smiled and lifted his drink to her.

Sugar stiffened. Turned away, reaching a hand out to her co-bartender. The other woman nodded, and then Sugar rushed away.

Without thinking, Bruce got off his stool. It was crowded, and he had to push past clumps of people standing and talking. He heard their exclamations when he shoved them away, but he ignored them. Broke through the last of the crowd only to find another knot of people lingering in front of the stage, near the hall toward the restrooms.

Sugar disappeared into the hall with a flash of blond hair and purple dress.

"Sugar!" he called. "Sugar, wait!"

Sugar was almost at the door leading to the backstage. Bruce put on a final burst of speed, bowling over someone exiting the restroom and managed to catch Sugar before she made it through the door.

"Sugar," he said, grabbing her by the arm.

She whirled, face a mask of panic. Her fist made for Bruce's face and he reflexively blocked it. Grabbed her wrist and pinned it to the wall.

Then he realized what he'd done. "Shit," he swore, letting her go. He stepped away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

She was trembling all over. There was a wild look in her face. Her teeth were clenched, eyes wide, face flushed. The fist Bruce had pushed against the wall stay there; her other hand clenched spasmodically at her thigh, bunching the material of her dress. She looked like she was either going to pass out or explode into a tidal wave of fury.

Bruce took another half-step back and raised his hands in front of him. "I'm not going to hurt you, Sugar. I promise. You don't have to be afraid."

"Afraid? I'm not afraid. Not afraid," she said, her voice lower and hoarser than it'd been the night before.

"Of course not." Bruce was ready to agree with anything she said, just as long as she stopped shaking. Stopped looking at him in terror.

Sugar closed her eyes. Took a few deep breaths. When she opened them again, she looked somewhat calmer. "Detective, I know you think I can help you find Jonathan Crane, but I can't. I didn't see anything that night. Didn't see him. I don't know why that man died, and I don't care. So just… go away and leave me alone. Or… or I'll call the police."

"That's not why I'm here," Bruce said, and he was surprised to find that he wasn't lying. "It's not why I chased you."

"Right," she said sardonically. "You chased a drag queen down the hall to, what? Compliment her on her dress? That's really your style."

Bruce took a step closer. "How do you know what my style is? You don't even know me."

She swallowed. "You're a detective. From Gotham City. You're looking for a dangerous criminal. Why should I believe you'd let yourself get distracted by a piece of skirt?"

"Piece of skirt?" Bruce smiled and moved even closer. He placed his hand on the wall next to her head and leaned in. "Is that what you think you are?"

"I think I'm a waitress at a club. And if you're following me around, it's only because you think I can help you in some way." She shifted away from his hand. Looked up into his eyes, breathing through her mouth. Her breaths came quickly and she looked nervous. Nervous, not scared, and Bruce didn't move away.

Instead, he leaned closer. "I do think you can help me," he said, looking from her eyes to her mouth and back again. "But that's not the only reason."

"Don't," she whispered.

"Don't what?"

Sugar didn't answer. Shook her head, a furrow appearing between her eyes. Confusion painted her face.

He couldn't help it. Had to do it. He reached out and took hold of her chin gently. Leaned forward and kissed her.

She inhaled sharply. Stiffened.

Bruce pulled away having done no more than press his lips to hers. He licked his lips, tasting. Some kind of flavored gloss coated her lips. Clashed with the sharp bitterness of the lipstick underneath.

Sugar was breathing quickly still. She closed her eyes. Licked her lips and opened them again.

He moved closer again, this time keeping his eyes open. Watched her all the way in, until she closed her eyes.

This time, Sugar's mouth met his in the middle. Pushed against his awkwardly.

Bruce let go of her chin. Slid his hand behind her neck and kissed more forcefully. Guided her, fitting her mouth against his. Nipped at her bottom lip until she opened her mouth.

Her hands clutched at shirt. Tugged at him, a startled sound escaping her throat when he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Her entire body shook as she kissed him, fingers tightening, tugging, pulling.

"Sugar!" someone called down the hall.

She broke away, panting heavily. Looked over Bruce's shoulder. "I'll be back out in a second, Buzz."

"You all right?"

Her face took a deep, rosy flush. "Yes."

Bruce looked over his shoulder to see the imposing figure of Sugar's boss glaring at them suspiciously. He didn't look like he was going to leave until Bruce let go and he was sure Sugar was safe.

He turned back. "I, uh. I guess I should let you get back to work."

"Okay." She wouldn't look at him, even though her hands still were fisted in his shirt.

"I'll talk to you later?"

Sugar nodded. Let go of Bruce's shirt.

He leaned in and kissed her once more, gently, chastely.

She smiled a half-embarrassed smile and glanced up at him through her eyelashes. Then, she stepped around him and walked back to the bar.

Bruce turned to watch her walk away. Watched as she said something that must have reassured her boss, because he pat her on the shoulder and nodded at Bruce before escorting Sugar away.

When the crowd had swallowed them up, Bruce let out a sigh and leaned against the wall. He was aroused and excited. He wanted to follow Sugar, wait for her to get off work, then take her to his hotel room and finish what they started. He wanted to do a lot of things.

Most of all, he wanted to ignore the fact that, while staring into her eyes, he'd seen that she was wearing contacts. And the green was artificial, covering some other color underneath. A color that he'd bet his fortune on was blue.

And, if he was right, then he was more screwed than he'd thought before.


	5. Chapter 5

Jonathan put his socked feet on Cherry's coffee table and set his laptop on his lap. It was his night off, but Cherry was at work, so he had the place to himself. Usually, he went to the bar even when he was off, having no where better to go. Tonight, though, he didn't want to risk seeing David again.

The Bat. Who'd _kissed_ him yesterday.

He still had no idea what to think of that. He'd been completely flustered the rest of the night, hardly able to think, which never happened. Buzz had needed to pull him upstairs to talk, make sure that David wasn't harassing Jonathan or forcing himself onto him.

David hadn't. Forced himself on Jonathan, that was. He'd given Jonathan plenty of time to pull away, to refuse the kiss. But Jonathan had… he'd wanted it. Wanted to feel David's mouth and hands and body against his.

He'd liked the way it felt. And he didn't quite know what to do with that knowledge.

Obviously, it'd been a sexual response. Between that and the dreams, it was evident that Jonathan was attracted to David. The problem was that David Mills was the Batman, the man who'd poisoned Jonathan with his own toxins and then left him, an action that caused irrevocable brain damage. Not that the Bat had known that would happen at the time, but that was hardly an excuse; he'd experienced the effects of the toxin, he knew how dangerous it was. Had Jonathan not been healthy and strong, he could have killed.

Killed by terror. A little shudder went through Jonathan at that thought. The beauty of it, the poetry. To have one's life bookmarked by terror, both entering and exiting the world screaming. Sheer perfection.

But that was neither here nor there. His sexual attraction to the man who spent his nights masquerading as a giant bat was. He'd never, to his recollection, been this drawn to another human being before. The fact that he was attracted to the worst possible choice made it all the more inconvenient. What was he supposed to do? He was a good actor and had, seemingly, so far pulled the wool over the Bat's eyes as to his true identity. But to continue on would be folly. It'd be asking to be discovered and dragged back to Arkham.

The wise thing to do was to leave. Tonight. He could gather his belongings and leave without saying goodbye. He would, to his surprise, miss the people at Dreamgirls, but they'd understand, in the end. He'd take off, settle somewhere else, and Batman would have to start his search again. Maybe he'd even give it up.

As for the sexual aspect, Jonathan was sure he could find someone of the same height and build who was also reasonably attractive to explore this newfound interest.

With a sigh, Jonathan clicked over to the Gotham newspapers, scanning again for articles he knew wouldn't be there. No Batman, no sightings, no one to stop the criminals.

Gotham was apparently boring these days. According to one article, even Bruce Wayne seemed to be missing. He'd come down with some mysterious illness that turned the perpetually in the limelight playboy into a recluse.

Without the entertainment of either Batman or Bruce Wayne, all Gotham had was its super villains, and apparently the Joker's escape hadn't been successful. It was almost enough to make Jonathan want to go back to play.

But not enough.

He closed his computer. Sat, staring. Thinking.

He really should go. Leave. Now.

Someone knocked on the door.

Jonathan froze.

Another knock. Then, "Sugar? Uh, Sean? You there? It's David. From the bar."

Shit!

"Cherry sent me. With food."

His voice is frozen in his throat. Heart hammering, Jonathan put his computer down. Rushed to his room and pulled the canister of fear toxin from under his pillow. He slid it into his left sleeve, gripping it tightly, and went to the door.

David stood on the other side, holding a bag of Chinese takeout. He smiled when Jonathan opened the door, his eyes running over Jonathan's body before meeting his eyes. "Hey. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Jonathan shook his head. His voice was still stuck.

"Can I come in?"

No, Jonathan's brain said, but he stepped back and let David come inside. He watched as David crossed the room and set the bag on the coffee table.

"You all right?" he asked, turning to where Jonathan was still standing next to the open door.

Back pressed against the door, Jonathan stayed silent. Fingered the top of the can as David pulled boxes of food from the bag, placing them on the coffee table. As he pulled chopsticks out and picked up a box. Shoveled some food into mouth, then look up at Jonathan.

"Seriously. Are you all right?" he asked after he swallowed.

He swallowed. "What are you doing here?"

David shrugged. "I wanted to see you. You weren't at work and Cherry said that I should drop by. So I did." He bit his bottom lip then said, "I could leave if you want."

"No," he said without thinking. He frowned when he realized what he said. Mouthed the word and realized he meant it. "No. It's okay."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." Jonathan carefully crossed the room. Sat on the couch, leaving a good space between him and David. Trying not to be obvious, he slid his canister between the cushions, then moved both hands into his lap.

"Hungry?" David nudged one of the boxes toward Jonathan.

He thought about it. Shook his head.

"You sure? Because you look hungry." He took another bite, then added, "Or just really thin. Seriously, how much to you weigh?"

"I don't know. Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't. Just trying to make conversation." David looked at him. Put down his chopsticks. "If you're uncomfortable, I can leave."

"I just don't understand why you're here." If David suspected who he really was, then there were better ways of making him admit it than bringing him dinner and asking about his weight. If he didn't suspect who Jonathan was, then this probably wasn't the Bat. If it wasn't the Batman, then Jonathan had no reason to be nervous. Except, of course, for the sexual dreams and the kiss. Which, come to think of it, was actually a good reason to be nervous, Bat or not.

His head was beginning to ache.

"I like you, Sugar. Sean." He set the food back on the table. Reached for Jonathan's hand.

Jonathan let him take it.

"I'm attracted to you. I wanted to get to know you better outside of your work. When Cherry suggested I come here, I took her up on the offer. But if it's making you too uncomfortable, I can go."

Without thinking about it, Jonathan closed his hand around David's. "No."

The other man's face broke out into a grin. "Great." He moved closer. "So. How'd you get into drag?"

Small talk. He hated small talk with a burning passion. When he'd been a successful psychiatrist, he'd made it a point never to indulge other people's need for it. As a waitress in a drag club on what could only be described as a date, Jonathan couldn't see any way out of it.

"It was by chance. I was hit by a car in front of the club. Cherry and some of the other girls took me in. When Cherry found out I needed a job, she talked to Buzz. I started a few days later."

"You were hit by a car?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't paying attention. Things haven't been very good for me for awhile."

"What do you mean?"

Jonathan simply shook his head. He reached for an egg roll. Turned it over in his hands. "How'd you become a private detective."

"Oh, I… I've always been interested in solving mysteries. Find people, lost things. When I was a kid, I was the who could find the lost toy or stolen lunch money. It just seemed a natural thing to get into when I grew up."

"I thought you had to be a cop to become a PI."

"Naw. I mean, it doesn't hurt, but it's not required. People hire me, so they don't mind."

"Did you have any kind of training?"

David's mouth curled. "Yeah," he said. "I had plenty of training."

The way he said it made Jonathan think that he probably wasn't talking about being a PI. He was being truthful. Obviously, to become as skilled as the Batman was, one would have to have some kind of training. The way he moved, the fighting, the complete confidence he used all his toys… it all spoke of long hours of work to get to that level of confidence.

He wanted to ask where he trained. Who helped him. And, of course, why would he put himself through everything he must have all to protect a sinkhole of a city that was doing all it could to kill itself.

But he couldn't. Not without giving away who he was. So, he just nodded. Tore a piece off the egg roll and looked at it, not sure what to do with it now.

"This missing persons case you're working on," Jonathan said, looking at the egg roll piece, frustration rising. "Who hired you?"

"Arkham Asylum." David sounded distracted. "He's an inmate."

"They have the money to hire a private detective? They barely had enough to hire…" He bit off what he was going to say, cursing himself. What the hell had he been thinking? Shit, shit, shit.

He risked looking up at David through his eyelashes.

David looked as if he'd swallowed something sour. Not surprised in the least, just… resigned. And puckered.

Jonathan swallowed. Tore another piece off the eggroll. Waited for the repercussions of his misstatement.

Suddenly, David's mouth was around his fingers. His tongue caressed the tips before he pulled back.

Startled, he looked up.

David grinned as he chewed the bits of eggroll he'd stolen. "Didn't look like you really wanted to eat that. Thought I'd help you out." He swallowed. Licked his lips.

Jonathan blushed. Held out the rest of the eggroll.

Keeping their eyes together, David leaned forward. Opened his mouth and slowly took another bite. Chewed and swallowed it, still gazing up into Jonathan's eyes. Continued until there was only a little bit left, a tiny bit that required David to practically lick it up from Jonathan's fingertips.

He just barely managed to suppress a shiver. Tingles raced up his arm and down his spine. His stomach contracted and groin grew hot. Heavy.

"I really did just come over to see you," David whispered when the eggroll was gone. He shifted closer to Jonathan, one arm moving past him to rest on the arm of the couch. The movement brought David leaning against Jonathan, pushing him slightly backward. David's other hand came up to Jonathan's chin, cupping it. "No ulterior motive."

"I find that hard to believe." His voice was breathless, soft. Not quite Sugar, but not quite his own, either.

David's lips quirked. And then his face filled Jonathan's vision and…

_Oh_.

Jonathan couldn't help the exhale of surprise. His mouth fell open. Or maybe he opened it for David as he pressed back into the kiss. Wound his arms around David's neck and pushed up until their bodies connected.

David kissed him and kissed him. Again and again, like he could do it forever. Jonathan's head swum. He knew he was supposed to breathe through his nose, but right now, he couldn't quite work out how. Every time they broke apart, he gasped for air, deep, gulping gasps before being drawn back to David's mouth.

He was too hot. Burning. And he couldn't think. It was almost like after he'd been sprayed with the fear toxin, only, instead of the euphoria of terror this was just… euphoria.

David's mouth traveled down Jonathan's neck. Teeth sank into soft skin, causing Jonathan to groan, his fingers digging into David's back. He bared his neck, pushing into David's mouth, feeling the soft, wet suction as David worked his way down. Pulled at the collar of Jonathan's tee-shirt. Bit down on the juncture of his shoulder.

"Ah," Jonathan gasped. He threaded his fingers in David's short hair. Tugged him back up.

David came back up. His mouth fit over Jonathan's. Tongue dipped inside, caressing against Jonathan's. Pulled back and whispered something Jonathan couldn't hear, his hands slipping under Jonathan's shirt. Pressed into his back. Stroked and kissed and took Jonathan apart bit by bit.

When David finally pulled back, Jonathan felt wrecked. His mouth was swollen, his skin felt too tight. He was flushed and his hair was a mess. There were hot, throbbing bruises on Jonathan's neck, and he reached up with a shaking hand to touch them. Press against them, wonderingly.

David looked mussed too. His cheeks were flushed and lips dark and red and wet. He ran his eyes over Jonathan's body. Licked his lips. "I really just came over to see you," he said. He looked back up at Jonathan. Smiled in a self-deprecating way. "I just wanted to see you." He ran his thumb over Jonathan's mouth and chin.

A thousand pinpricks skittered over Jonathan's face where it'd been rubbed raw by David's beard. "I didn't mind the, uh, kissing."

"Me neither." He leaned in. Kissed Jonathan softly. "What am I going to do about you?" he whispered against Jonathan's mouth.

_Don't take me back to Arkham_ Jonathan asked silently. But he didn't say anything. Couldn't. He had to continue dancing this delicate dance, both of them knowing who the other was without wanting to admit it. As long as they pretended, this, whatever _this_ was, could continue. It wouldn't last. It couldn't last.

But for now, they could continue to play pretend.

* * *

AN: So, so sorry for taking so long with the update. I'm on vacation now, so, with any luck, updates will come more quickly. Thanks for still reading!


	6. Chapter 6

"God _damnit_!" Bruce swore as he stepped inside his hotel room. He slammed the door behind him, then ripped the stupid goatee off his face.

The pain was sharp, then throbbing, but he didn't care. He needed pain to help clear his mind. Clearly, he was going insane. Losing his grip on either reality or who he was. The pain helped remind him.

Stills wearing under his breath, he stalked to the bathroom. Pulled the spirit gum remover from his bag and swiped it over his face, wiping away the glue.

This was getting out of hand. He'd gone to Sean's tonight to talk. Yes, and to do some probing, to see if his suspicion was correct. If his pretty waitress was, indeed, the Scarecrow.

He hadn't expected Jonathan to practically out himself. To actually begin to talk about Arkham as if they were friends and not too people playing pretend.

Bruce knew what he should have done. He should have let Jonathan finish revealing himself, then taken him into custody. Packed up and headed back to Gotham, deposited Jonathan at Arkham, and get back to his life.

Except, he didn't. Because, in a perverse way, he didn't want this to end. He liked being this undercover detective who was courting a drag queen. He liked hanging out at the club and flirting with Sugar. He liked the other waitresses and the show. The lack of responsibility and the slow, shy smiles he got from Sugar when he said something that pleased her.

And he liked Sean, too. Liked sitting on the couch with him, watching him tear apart an eggroll. Liked the way Sean had pushed into Bruce's kisses, the soft, surprised sounds he made, and the way his fingers stroked at Bruce's back.

He'd never really known Jonathan Crane. The only interactions he'd had with the man came when Bruce was Batman. Rachel had said Jonathan was arrogant and cold. The thing was, Bruce could see that in Sean, only it wasn't arrogance as much as a fierce intelligence. And it wasn't coldness. He was reserved. Introverted. Shy.

Maybe he'd changed. After being doused with the fear toxin for so long, there was no way he couldn't have been. Maybe it had softened him. Or, maybe, by becoming Sugar, Jonathan had uncovered something in himself that he hadn't found in his former life.

Bruce didn't know. He just knew that he didn't want this to end. He didn't want to take Jonathan back to Arkham. But he couldn't justify leaving him.

He didn't know what to do.

Head aching, Bruce grabbed his phone and dialed Alfred.

"Good evening, Master Wayne," Alfred answered on the first ring. "How goes your search?"

"Well, the waitress is definitely Jonathan," Bruce said, dropping into a nearby chair. He covered his eyes with one hand and rubbed them. "I went to see him tonight, and he started to say something about Arkham. Cut himself off, but still."

"Are you bringing him back tonight, then?"

He shook his head. "No. No, not yet. I don't know, Alfred," he said, dropping his hand. "I'm not getting dangerous criminal from him."

"He's poisoned two people with his toxin, Master Wayne. One of those people is now dead."

"It's more complicated than that. What he did in Gotham was awful. Criminal. But this was different. This was self-defense. The guy that died was mugging Jonathan and a friend, and the first guy…" Bruce trailed off. He still didn't know that Fletcher had raped Jonathan. He hadn't found the tape. He had no proof. For all he knew, Jonathan had attacked Fletcher unprovoked.

But he Jonathan hadn't.

"Master Wayne?"

"He just doesn't seem like someone who'd go around spraying people with no reason. Fletcher was a major creep. If he did what I suspect, then, well. It was probably Jonathan's only way to defend himself."

"He can't go around dosing people with a lethal hallucinogen even as self-defense. There's pepper spray for that. Or he could take a self-defense class. I'm sure they offer them at Arkham Asylum."

Bruce let out a long sigh. "Alfred, I don't want to take him back. He's got a life here. Friends. I'm pretty sure that's more than he ever had back in Gotham. I mean, let's face it, Arkham Asylum has never done anyone any good. Somehow, moving here, working at this club has helped him in a way that medical attention couldn't. Taking him away might send him back to the way he was before."

There was silence. Bruce held his breath, wondering what Alfred would say. Wondering if he'd figured out that Bruce was attracted to Jonathan. Not just Sugar or Sean, but Jonathan, because they were all the same person. And that person made Bruce want to gathering him in his arms and protect him. In a much different way than he protected Gotham.

Finally, Alfred sighed softly. "If you want to leave him, Master Wayne, I'd suggest at least confiscating his toxin. And, perhaps, letting him know that you are watching should he slip up again. But, of course, it's up to you." Said in a way that let Bruce know that whatever he chose, Alfred would judge him but never tell him what he actually felt.

"I'll take that under advisement." He got out of his chair. Crossed the room to the TV and pulled the next tape of Fletcher's rapes from the box. "I've got some research to do. I'll talk to you later."

"Good-night, Master Wayne."

Bruce hung up. Looked at the tape, stomach turning. He hated these things. Hated Fletcher for doing this to people. But he had to watch them.

He owed Jonathan that much.

* * *

Jonathan jerked awake on hearing the scrape of a key in the front door. He blinked blurrily, sitting up, his hand reaching automatically for the canister of fear gas that wasn't there. His heart was pounding, even though he knew it had to be Cherry; no one else had the key.

The doorknob turned and Cherry appeared. She peeked around door. "Is it safe to come in?" she asked with a hint of teasing in her voice.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "It's your home."

Cherry came the rest of the way in. She was still in make-up, but had left the wig and costume back at the bar. Her own hair was long and she'd pulled it back in a ponytail. Her clothes were androgynous: jeans and a blouse. If one didn't look too closely, she could pass for a woman, which is all she wanted. As she explained to Jonathan weeks ago, she was fine with the male body, but her soul was that of a woman's. She didn't want to change anything about herself except the pronoun people referred to her as.

Jonathan had no trouble thinking of Cherry as a she. She talked, dressed, and acted in what could be called in a feminine manner, and even seeing her naked once (complete accident; his medication hadn't quite started to work and he'd wandered into the bathroom while she was getting out of the shower) hadn't changed his perception of her. Besides. As someone who was part male, part Scarecrow, and, apparently, part female, he had not place to judge how people wanted to label themselves.

"So. Looks like I did right by sending your detective here," Cherry said, sitting on the couch next to Jonathan. She reached out and touched his neck.

Jonathan pulled away and put his hand up. He could feel the hot mark left by David's mouth and blushed. "It was fine."

"More than fine." Cherry got up and went to the kitchen. When she came back, she was holding two glasses and a bottle of wine. "So. Details?"

His face warmed even more. "What do you want me to say? I don't… I mean…"

"Wow, you really are a shy virgin, aren't you?" Cherry handed him a glass.

"I'm not really a virgin," he muttered into his glass, scowling. Because it was the truth. Before Fletcher, he had been. After Fletcher, well. By technical definition, he wasn't one. And while it had never mattered to him before, he was resentful that, just as his sexuality was beginning to sit up and take notice of someone, that the mythical, all important first time had already been forced on him.

He gulped at the wine. His throat was surprisingly tight and it was hard to swallow, but he managed.

When he looked up, Cherry was looking at him with sympathetic eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"No." He looked back at his wine. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to… how. To do any of this. And it won't work."

"Of course it will. Honey, the electricity between the two of you is so strong, you can feel it just being near you guys. When the chemistry is that good, with a little work, everything will fall into place."

He shook his head. "You don't understand. I'm… I'm not a good person. I've done things. Bad things." Jonathan smirked. "Really bad things."

"I doubt they were that bad."

"No, they were," he said, knowing she would never understand. She couldn't, not unless he told her the truth, and there was no way he would ever do that. "I can't explain. Don't want to. Because, the truth is, I like this life. I like being here. Being Sugar." He shook his head. "When I left, all I wanted to do was survive. And then… then that life fell apart and I found you. Or, you found me." He let out a long sigh and leaned back against the couch. Closed his eyes. "David is… and I don't know what to do."

"You just follow your instincts."

"My instincts aren't working right now. I'm being pulled in two different directions. One says run. The other says stay. And I don't know what to do."

The couch cushions shifted. Jonathan tensed as Cherry put her arm around him and pulled him against her. "These bad things you did. Do they have anything to do with David?"

"In a roundabout way." His head was beginning to ache. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "He's, uh, looking for someone."

"And that someone is you."

He let his silence answer.

"And he doesn't know it's you because, even out of drag, you're in disguise."

The silence spoke for him again.

Cherry sighed. "Oh, Sean."

He squirmed. "Actually, he might know now." He opened his eyes and stared sightlessly across the room. "I slipped up. And he kissed me before I could make it worse. But the look on his face." Jonathan shrugged. "He knows."

Cherry sighed again and rested her head against Jonathan's. "Do you think he's going to arrest you?"

"He doesn't exactly work like that," Jonathan said, snorting. "He's more of an outside the law sort of guy."

"So, what? What will he do?"

"I don't know. I thought he would take me away as soon as he had even the slightest shred of proof of who I am. But he didn't. He just… kissed me." He raised his hand to his mouth. Remembered the feeling of the Batman's mouth against his own. Of his body. How it had felt… safe. Arousing. Different from Fletcher even though the Bat had hurt his mind, when all Fletcher had hurt was his body.

Except, it was different. Jonathan had sprayed Batman. Batman had gotten him back. Yes, he'd left Jonathan terrified and weakened. Had withheld the antidote until the toxin had left a permanent mark on Jonathan's brain. But that was treatable. And the Bat hadn't come after him. He'd gone after Scarecrow. It hadn't been personal. Terrifying, but not personal.

Fletcher had been personal. It'd been…

"If you need to run, I can give you money. Help you."

Jonathan shook his head. "You don't even know me. You don't know what kind of man I am. Why would you help me?"

Cherry kissed him on the forehead. Smoothed his hair back. "Whatever you were, you're not anymore. You came here and created a new life. And you deserve a chance to live it, even if it's in another town." She laughed softly. "We aren't the only drag club in the country, and any of them would be glad to have Sugar."

He actually laughed. "I don't want to leave," he admitted. "I feel…" He hesitated. Shrugged. "I _feel_ here."

"Good." Cherry kissed him again and squeezed him tightly. "Then we'll figure out a way to keep you."


	7. Chapter 7

"_It's raining men, Hallelujah, it's raining men,_" Jonathan definitely did not sing as he loaded his tray with orders.

When he turned and caught sight of David grinning at him with a fond expression on his face, Jonathan knew his self-denial was futile. He not only was mouthing the words to the god-awful songs constantly pumped into this place, but he was singing, too. Out loud.

He was two steps away from being dragged onto that stage. That was, if he wasn't even closer to being dragged back to Gotham City and Arkham.

"Stop looking at me like that," he hissed as he passed David at his usual place at the bar.

"I can't help it. You're adorable."

Jonathan stopped in his tracks and leveled a glare at him. "Chewing on my neck does not give you the right to make fun of me."

David put his hand on Jonathan's waist. Rubbed his fingers in small circles. "Sugar, I'm not making fun of you. I'd never do that."

The warmth and sincerity in his eyes drowned out the tiny protest of, "_Yes, but you're probably going to ruin my life_." The eyes, despite the contacts, were so warm and even thought Jonathan _hated_ clichés more than anything, he knew he could get lost in them.

"A-hem."

Jonathan jumped and looked away from David.

Buzz was standing next to them, arms crossed over his chest, tapping the toe of his gorgeous black suede studded Prada pump.

He blushed. "Sorry, Buzz. I was just taking these out now."

Buzz gave him an indulgent smile. "It's okay. I remember when my wife and I first started going out. Now, about your table. I've got Richie on point, right nearby, in case they decide to give you any trouble. I'll be watching. If you start to feel uncomfortable, just give me a signal and they're out of there."

Jonathan glanced at the table in question. A birthday part, overwhelmingly female except for the two men, significant others who'd been dragged here against their will, as one of them made sure everyone knew. Loudly. Over and over again.

The waitress who was supposed to be covering that section had an asthma attack twenty minutes into her shift. She'd gone home, and Jonathan had taken over. Lucky him.

"I've dealt with difficult customers before, honey," Jonathan said, batting his eyes at Buzz. "This will be easy." He blew David a tiny kiss, then carefully made his way across the crowded room to his table.

"Hey! The waitress is back!" a man shouted when Jonathan came with their dinner order.

"Sorry for the delay," Jonathan said. He began handing out plates.

"So, how long have you been working here?" the shouting man shouted.

"A little over a month."

"You always been queer?"

"Most men who dress in drag are straight," Jonathan said, fissions of anxiety rushing up his spine. "Not everyone who works here is gay." He put the last plate in place. Smiled. "Is there anything else you need?"

There was a chorus of, "No," and Jonathan turned to go, when a hand clamped around his wrist.

"You're really pretty. You really a guy?"

Jonathan swallowed, trying to get his heart out of his throat. He turned to find shouting man, face flushed, halfway out of his seat.

"Let go." The hand holding the tray tightened on it. His other hand moved towards his thigh.

"No. Not until you answer my question. You really a guy?"

"Steven," one of the women hissed.

Steven didn't seem to hear. He tugged Jonathan closer. "Look, I ain't coming on to you. But my girlfriend wanted to see a bunch of fags in dresses, not girls. So, I want to know she's getting my money's worth."

It all happened at once. The woman shouted. Steven shoved his hand under Jonathan's skirt, groping. Jonathan swung the tray wildly, connecting with Steven's head, grabbing his fear toxin canister with the other hand. Buzz and about five bouncers rushed the table.

And someone grabbed Jonathan from behind.

"No, no," David said in his ear. "Don't." He twisted Jonathan's arm behind, pinning the can of toxin to his back. "Let it go. Let the can go, Jonathan." And then, in a deep, raspy voice that twisted Jonathan's stomach and made him go stiff in terror, "Drop it."

The can dropped but didn't hit the floor. Jonathan's legs gave out and he almost fell, except Batman had him and scooped him into his arms.

"Get her upstairs," Buzz said over the noise.

The bouncers were trying to subdue Steven, who'd gone wild with rage. His friend was trying to help calm him down. Other patrons had risen, were joining in on the noise and it was all too much for Jonathan.

He closed his eyes. Pressed his face against the Batman's neck, trembling too hard to even think about getting away. All he could think of was Fletcher. Not the shouting man who'd just groped him in public, but Fletcher and what he'd done.

"Is he okay?" he heard Cherry asking as Batman walked.

"He wasn't hurt," the Batman answered, his voice no longer the terrifying growl. "He's just shaken up."

The door to Buzz's office squeaked when it opened, alerting Jonathan to where he was. He was set down gently on the couch in the office, the Batman settling next to him.

"You need anything, honey?" Cherry asked, kneeling in front of the couch. She put her hand on his knee and squeezed. "Want me to get you a drink?"

He nodded.

Cherry smiled. Looked from him to the Batman then back again. "I'll be right back."

He just nodded again. Watched as she exited the office, closing the door behind her.

Now that it was quiet, he was beginning to feel the effects of the attack. Adrenaline rushed through his body, his stomach twisting with it. Sharp pains flared like needles puncturing his stomach and he tasted bitterness in the back of his throat. Sweat slicked on his forehead and his palms. His heart pounded too quickly, and he couldn't stop his hands from shaking. Hands, arms, body. Everything.

The Batman had his hand on Jonathan's back. He rubbed in slow, long strokes, palm sliding over the silk of Jonathan's dress. A soothing motion that did nothing to sooth.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to tremble. Not to show fear in front of his enemy. Not to give into his desire to crawl into the man's lap—the man he'd spent the night before kissing—and cling to him. This wasn't David, the private detective who made him feel things he'd never felt before. This was the Batman.

Jonathan swallowed. Licked his lips, tasting the cherry lip gloss he'd put on not fifteen minutes ago, and asked, "Are you going to take me back to Arkham?" It came out in Sugar's voice. He hadn't meant to do that, but he was still in costume and things were so much easier to deal with as Sugar. She gave him strength.

The Batman's hand stopped in the middle of Jonathan's back. He sighed. "That's what I came here to do." His voice sounded flat. Emotionless.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a lump rising to his throat. He knew it was useless to try and reason with the Batman. That wasn't what he did. Batman punched and kicked and never listened to reason. Never heard the necessity behind anyone's actions, no matter how justified they might be. If one stepped out the narrow definition of acceptable behavior even a centimeter, the Bat was there to pound them back in again.

But David had seemed different. Jonathan had thought that maybe…

"Please," he found himself saying. _Sugar_ said, her voice breathy and vulnerable in a way Jonathan never could let himself be. He turned towards the other man, getting to his knees, hands clasped in David's sleeve. "Please don't make me go back. It doesn't help there. The orderlies… and the doctors… and I'm here. I have a job. I'm good at it. I'm a productive member of society."

"And you attract trouble like a magnet." He put his hand on Jonathan's cheek. "Dammit, Jonathan, you've gassed three people."

"They attacked me!"

"I know." He laughed, a strangely hopeless sound. "Like I said, you attract trouble. But you can't use a lethal gas to protect yourself."

"It's the only way I can."

He shook his head. "No. No, there are other ways. Get pepper spray or take a self-defense course."

"That won't punish them for hurting me! They shouldn't come after me!"

"No, they shouldn't. But it's not up to you to punish them."

He laughed bitterly. Fell away from the Batman, curling in on himself and covering his face. "Like the police would ever do anything to help me. Soon as they saw who I was, they'd throw me in prison and let the person who hurt me go."

"Jonathan. I…"

The door opened and Cherry came in. "The police are downstairs," she said, handing a soda to Jonathan. "They're going to want a statement."

Panic suffused him. "No! I can't, I…" He got off the couch, heading towards the door, not thinking. He just knew he had to get out, had to get away. He couldn't give a statement, couldn't go to the police. He had to run.

Someone caught his hand. "I'll take him home," David said. "Tell them… say he's too upset to give a statement. He'll do it later."

"No," Cherry said, voice hard as nails. "He told me yesterday that you're here to take him away. If you think I'm trusting you to him…"

"I won't," the Batman said, pulling Jonathan into a protective embrace. "I won't take him anywhere tonight, I promise. Just home."

Cherry looked from the Bat to Jonathan. "Honey, what do you want?"

All he wanted was not to be here anymore. To not have to worry about being hurt or attacked or anything. To feel safe for even a moment.

"Jonathan," the Batman said softly, just loud enough for his ears.

Jonathan turned and looked up at him. Saw David, the man who'd kissed him last night, who'd held him and stroked him and made him feel things he'd never felt before, gazing down at him.

He nodded. "Okay. It's okay, Cherry." He turned back to his friend. "I'll go with him."

"If that's what you want." She glared at David. "I promised him that I wouldn't let anything happen to him. I am not going to let you take him away from his home."

Jonathan felt David give a little shudder. "I promise, whatever I decide, you'll see him again."

"Without a mark on him." Then Cherry tilted her head and added, "Unless he says it's okay for you to put those marks there."

His face went up in flame. "Cherry," he hissed.

Cherry just grinned. Came closer and kissed Jonathan's on the forehead. "I'll tell them you weren't feeling well. They probably won't push tonight. We can figure something out later because, Sugar, charges need to be pressed."

"Right." He looked back at David. "Let's go."

David put his arm around Jonathan's wait. Together, they left, sneaking out the back of the club without being seen.

* * *

Bruce drove back to Jonathan and Cherry's apartment as fast as he dared. He wanted to take Jonathan back to his hotel room, but since Jonathan was still in drag, he wasn't sure if that was a good idea. The visit yesterday had confirmed that Jonathan only dressed as a woman at work; he'd probably be more comfortable in his own clothes.

And Bruce needed to get Jonathan to calm down. He hadn't stop trembling. His whole body shook and his hands were clenched in tight fists against his thighs. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, and he was still breathing much too fast.

They got back to the apartment without hitting too many lights or being pulled over by the police. Bruce kept his arm around Jonathan until they got into the apartment, then let him go. Stepped back, not sure what to do.

Jonathan just stood there, gazing straight ahead like he wasn't really seeing anything. There was a blank expression on his face and he was still breathing like he'd just ran a marathon.

"Jonathan?" Bruce finally said. He hesitantly, lightly, touched Jonathan on the back. "You okay?"

He blinked and gave a little shake of his head that extended to his whole body. Glanced at Bruce and nodded. Then he carefully stepped out of his shoes, then bent over and picked them up. There was something very… ethereal in the way he walked across the room. It was almost like he was floating. Like he wasn't quite there.

There was a painted screen on the far side of the room. Jonathan disappeared behind it.

Bruce stood where he was, feeling awkward. He wasn't sure what he should do. If Jonathan was changing or… or what.

Well, in the state he was in, he really shouldn't be left alone. Really. Bruce was just concerned. Besides, what if there was a window behind the screen and he was trying to get away?

There wasn't. Just a bed with a plastic storage chest at the foot of it. A laptop sat on top, a book and a digital clock next to it. Jonathan was on the bed, knees against his chest, arms wrapped around them.

"Jonathan?" Bruce said uncertainly. When it got no response, he sat on the bed and tried again. "Sugar?"

Jonathan snorted. Closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "I was going to leave town," he said. "I knew I should go, as soon as Fletcher…" He swallowed. "But first I was healing. And then I was trying to survive. And then, I got hit by a car in front of the bar and Cherry took me in."

"It was a good disguise," Bruce said. "You disappeared without a trace. If it hadn't been for the second victim…"

"He wasn't a victim." Jonathan opened his eyes and glared at Bruce. He'd taken his contacts out so instead of the now familiar green, his eyes blazed blue, taking Bruce's breath away. "The man held a gun to my head. Hit my friend. Hit me. He got off easy."

"Easy? The man died."

Jonathan smirked. "I could have set him on fire."

Bruce gaped at him before letting out a startled laugh. "Was that a joke?"

He shrugged. Ducked his head, blond curls obscuring his face. "I can't go back to Arkham," he whispered, his normal voice blending with Sugar's. "Not now. Not after…"

When he didn't finish, Bruce put his hand on Jonathan's back. Ran it up to his neck and caressed gently. "Not after what?"

"Not after finding myself," he whispered.

Before Bruce could say anything in response to the startling revelation, Jonathan turned to him. His hands rested on the sides of Bruce's face and he kissed him. He moved closer, climbing onto Bruce's lap and straddling him.

Bruce groaned in Jonathan's mouth. He knew this was wrong, that Jonathan was too upset, that things were too unclear between them. He should stop this.

But Jonathan's mouth was warm and sweet, and he felt so right Bruce's arms. Sugar, Sean, Jonathan, it didn't matter what name he went by. When they were together, everything was perfect.

"Jonathan," Bruce whispered, pulling his mouth away. He kissed down Jonathan's neck. Felt how Jonathan trembled in his arms, but not from arousal or passion. "Jonathan, why are you shaking?"

Jonathan kissed Bruce's cheek. Moved up and kissed his each eye, then his nose. He was blushing when he pulled away. "I don't know why I did that, but I've been wanting to."

"Kiss me on the eyes?"

"Yeah. It's stupid."

"No. It's not. Not if it's what you wanted to do." He kissed Jonathan gently. "Why are you shaking?"

"I do that when I get scared. It's an after affect of the toxin, I think. When my adrenaline picks up, I shake."

"For how long?" Bruce asked, frowning.

"After Fletcher, I shook for a week." He smoothed his fingers down Bruce's face, skimming over his jaw and down his neck. "It happened last night, too. Only less. It went away faster, too."

"Have you had sex since…" He hesitated, frowning, before finishing with, "being sprayed by your toxin?"

Jonathan blinked at him owlishly, a blush stealing over his cheeks. "No." He looked away and slid off Bruce's lap.

Bruce watched him, wondering at the embarrassment. It wasn't like Bruce had an active sex life either, and he hadn't been an insane asylum in the recent past. So why…

"Jonathan, you have had sex before, right?"

Jonathan turned, pulling pins from his wigs as he did. "I believe my sexual experience was the very topic of the night when you first came to the club." He pulled off the wig and wig cap, revealing sweaty bleached blond hair.

Bruce thought back to that night and nodded. "Ah. The thing that you couldn't take care of on your own, according to Raven."

"Very good, detective. You may earn your keep yet." He ran his hand over his hair, mussing it into short, sweaty spikes.

He smiled, before the implications of Jonathan's statement sank in. "Oh."

Jonathan smiled wryly, the smile not reaching his eyes. "Don't. It isn't as if I've ever put much stock in it. Sex and all that. I've never…" He stopped. Shrugged. "I've never cared."

"You never cared, or you never wanted someone?"

"Congratulations," he said in a dry, sardonic tone. "In my entire life, it's just been you." A strong tremor ran through him.

The tremor gave it away. Showed the fear, the vulnerability deep in his eyes. Behind the mask of impassivity that Jonathan was so clearly struggling to maintain.

"You're not just saying this so I won't take you back, are you?" Bruce asked, half wishing that he were. It would make things so much easier.

For a moment, Jonathan said nothing. Said nothing, did nothing, gave nothing away. Simply sat there and looked at Bruce.

And then, he broke. His face crumpled, body bent. He shook his head.

Bruce sighed and pulled Jonathan to him. Lay back on the bed, holding Jonathan close. Soothed him the best he could and wondered how the hell they were going to get out of this mess.


	8. Chapter 8

Jonathan opened his eyes. Winced. His eyes felt sore and sticky, like he'd worn his contacts for too long. Or maybe he'd been crying.

As memory returned, he remembered it'd been the second. Fantastic.

He turned his head. David wasn't there. The sheets were messed up like there'd been another body with him, and there was an indentation of a heavier body than Jonathan's, but he was gone.

It was still night. The room was dark. But there was a silvery, flickering light around the edges of it.

Cherry didn't watch TV when she came home.

He frowned. Why would David get up to watch TV? When Jonathan couldn't sleep, he read or stared at the ceiling. The Batman didn't seem the type to watch late night infomercials, but, then, what did Jonathan really know about his proclivities? Except, of course, for his penchant for dressing like a giant bat and beating up criminals.

"Oh, yeah, that's right, bitch. Think you're so much better than everyone."

Jonathan froze at the muted words from the other room.

Oh _shit_.

He knew that voice. He knew that tone. The words made images flash through his mind in horrific, vivid colors. Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block them out. His body suddenly shook, violently, of his control.

He could feel Fletcher's body on his. Feel the drugs coursing through his system, making him slow and sluggish, turning the world into a fuzzy dreamscape around him.

Fletcher had twisted Jonathan's tie around his neck to choke him, but sometimes used his hands, too. When Jonathan hadn't stayed asleep, Fletcher had kept cutting off his air, forcing him to the brink of unconsciousness, then releasing him, letting Jonathan come back.

It'd been such a game to him. The drugs made Jonathan pliant and unable to fight, but didn't knock him out. Fletcher had decided he liked that. He'd told Jonathan.

"Gonna… kill… you," said Jonathan on the tape.

The tape.

He rolled onto his stomach. Reached under the bed.

The tape was gone. He knew it had to be gone, but… it was _gone_.

He knew he should have destroyed it. When he'd taken it from the recorder (and why had Fletcher had to use an outdated VHS Camcorder instead of an easily erased digital recorder, Jonathan didn't know), he'd intended to destroy it. But morbid curiosity had made him watch it. To see what had gone wrong, how Fletcher had been able to overpower the Scarecrow so easily.

And once the flashback and vomiting and shaking had ended, Jonathan had hidden the tape under his bed. Not the most ingenious of hiding places, but it was all he could manage at the time.

The world's greatest detective had taken advantage of Jonathan's PTSD.

He rolled back over.

Okay. Okay. So, the Batman was in the main room, watching the tape. Watching what had happened. He'd already known. He'd asked about it. Watching it shouldn't change anything. Shouldn't matter.

This time when the shudder when through him, it was borne of anger and not of fear.

Batman had taken all his fear toxin. But Jonathan had a bottle of perfume. It wouldn't cause him to hallucinate or scream in terror, but it'd hurt like a bitch.

The dress swirled around his calves as he slipped silently around the room divider.

The Batman sat on the couch, eyes glued to the TV. On it, Jonathan was splayed on his stomach on top of what had been his desk at the doctor's office. His shirt had been pulled from his shoulders, twisted around his wrists to pin them. Slacks pooled around his ankles. Fletcher's hands were around his neck, blue silk tie wrapped around his hand as he choked Jonathan.

Jonathan swallowed against nausea. Fought back against another onslaught of images. It wasn't real. Just a flashback. It couldn't hurt him, and he wouldn't let himself be terrified of a memory.

He opened his eyes again.

The Batman had turned off the TV screen. He was twisted on the couch towards Jonathan, face in shadows.

Jonathan swallowed. His fingers twitched on the perfume bottle.

"I'm sorry," the Batman said. I should have waited to watch it, asked you for permission, but you were asleep, and I found it. I've been looking for it. I found the others he attacked, and I wanted to be sure that he… And even after I knew, I had to watch it. I needed to see it."

Jonathan didn't say anything.

The Batman tilted his head. "Is that a bottle of perfume?"

Abruptly, he felt stupid. He'd planned to use perfume against the Batman. A man who'd taken down the Joker, survived Jonathan's fear toxin, and destroyed the League of Shadows. And Jonathan was holding perfume.

Batman glanced at the television then back. "You kept waking up. The others never did."

He forced moisture into his throat. His voice was hoarse and low when he spoke. "I'm hard to sedate. Always have been. Toxin made it worse."

Even in the darkness, Jonathan could see the wince. Felt a burn a pleasure. Batman had been the cause of the hallucinations, Jonathan's dependence on medication. On him being awake while Fletcher had raped him. He deserved to be reminded.

"Jonathan, what happened?"

His hand clenched on the perfume bottle. "What does it matter? You're going to take me back to Arkham, and Fletcher will go unpunished."

"I'm turning the rest of the tapes over to the police."

"Not mine?"

The Bat said nothing.

Jonathan sighed. His head ached behind his eyes, and he felt tired. Life had been so much easier before David had shown up. When Jonathan had just been a waitress.

No. His life had been easy when he'd just been the director of Arkham Asylum. Before Ra's al Ghul and Falcone and the Batman. Back when he'd been free. Free to experiment with his toxin. Free to treat his patients. Free to exist without caring about other people. Without desiring anyone.

It'd been so easy before.

"You ruined my life," he told Batman.

"What life, Jonathan? What did you have beside your research?"

Nothing. But it'd been enough. Back then, it'd been enough.

He wouldn't tell him that, though. Instead, Jonathan crossed the room and sat, keeping a cushion of space between them. He cradled the bottle of perfume in his lap. "What do you want from me?"

Batman shook his head. "I don't know. Do you know what you want from me?"

"I don't want you to take me back to Arkham."

He smiled. "Beside that."

Jonathan shook his head. He didn't know.

The Bat sighed. "I couldn't let you keep any of your toxin. And you couldn't make any more. If you did, I'd have no choice."

His heart lurched. "Have no choice to what?"

"Take you back to Arkham."

Blood rushed through him. His hands shook violently, and he clenched them in his dress. "You'd let me stay?"

"It's a really bad idea." He sighed and slumped against the couch. "I can't believe I'm even thinking of this."

Neither could Jonathan. The Batman. Actually letting him stay? It was almost unthinkable.

But, with his eyes closed, fingers threaded through his hair and rubbing at his scalp, he looked less like the Dark Knight and more like David Mills, private detective and flirt.

Warmth rose to his face. His hands itched to reach out and touch David.

He gave into it. Tucking his legs underneath him, Jonathan moved closer to the Batman and ran his fingers over his forehead. "You could stay with me. Keep me in line."

"I really, really can't." He opened his eyes. "You've never asked who I am."

"I." Jonathan frowned. He hadn't. It'd never occurred to him to ask. To even wonder. The Batman wasn't a person; he was larger than life. Larger than one man. "I haven't."

The Batman sat forward and cupped Jonathan's cheek. "I don't know if I should tell you. You could ruin me."

"As if you don't hold my life in your hands," Jonathan whispered.

He searched Jonathan's eyes. Sighed and nodded. "This is such an impossible situation." With his free hand, the Batman reached up and took hold of his beard. He tugged it, wiggling it, until it came loose enough to tear off with a painful-sounding _rip_.

Jonathan winced at the raw, red skin underneath. "Cherry had spirit-gum remover."

"More dramatic this way." He poked a finger in his eye, fishing out the contact, first one, then the other. Flicking them away, he looked up at Jonathan through deep, chocolate brown eyes.

The man looking at him was familiar, but Jonathan didn't recognize him. Not right away. And when he did, he didn't want to. Didn't want to know the man in front of him because he had no idea what to say.

"Jonathan?"

He swallowed. Looked down at the perfume in his hands. "I didn't know you were gay. The tabloids never mentioned it."

"The tabloids only see what I want them to. My relationships with men would cause too much scrutiny. Too much speculation. I can't have that."

"Of course not." He glanced at Bruce Wayne—_Bruce Wayne_—from underneath his eyelashes.

There were flecks of dried glue on his chin. Without thinking, Jonathan reached up and brushed some away. Then he realized what he'd done and blushed. Pulled his hand away.

Bruce Wayne caught it. "Don't. It's still me."

"No. It is most definitely is not."

He kissed Jonathan's hand, just like he had the first night they'd met. The couch cushion shifted. Bruce Wayne moved into Jonathan's space, one hand on his cheek, the other still holding his hand.

The familiar fluttering in his chest was back. Jonathan raised his head. Bruce Wayne's hand slid down his jaw to cup his chin. Jonathan watched as Bruce's face got closer and closer, those dark eyes on his until the last second. Then they fell to his mouth only a heart's flutter before their lips met.

Fire rushed through Jonathan. Of course it was the same as before, _of course_, but he'd been afraid. This wasn't David Mills, the private detective. This was _Bruce Wayne_, Gotham royalty.

But his hand caressed Jonathan's face the same way, and mouth pressed tenderly to his. He made the same fire rise and made Jonathan's heart flutter just the same.

Jonathan broke away, gasping for air. He was shaking almost too hard to breath properly.

"God, Jonathan," Bruce whispered. He ran his fingers through Jonathan's hair. Kissed his cheek. His mouth and rested their foreheads together. "I don't know what to do."

"Well," he said, trembling fingers clenching in Bruce's shirt. "You disappeared once before."

But Bruce shook his head, rolling his forehead over Jonathan's. "I'm sworn to protect Gotham. I can't leave it."

Of course not. He was Bruce Wayne, the man who kept Gotham afloat with Wayne Industries. Batman, who dressed up and fought the never ending wave of criminals.

Jonathan had been one of those criminals. And now he was in Bruce's arms.

He didn't want to leave. He knew he couldn't stay.

Jonathan pulled away. "I have a life here."

"You do. But it's not safe."

"You're telling me that my job isn't safe?"

Bruce blushed. "I can handle myself."

"So can I. If you let me keep my toxin."

"I can't. You know that." He caressed Jonathan's cheek. "You need to defend yourself without it."

"But the toxin…"

"Is too dangerous. And if you can't see that…"

"A gun is dangerous." Jonathan lifted his head and looked at Bruce. "A knife is dangerous. Fletcher uses drugs. My toxin is hardly more dangerous than anything that's been used against me."

"It causes irreparable damage."

He raised his eyebrow. "And Fletcher didn't?"

Bruce's face soften. He lifted his hand to Jonathan's face. "You're not irreparably damaged, Jonathan."

The warmth with which he spoke. The… the love. It made Jonathan blush. He squirmed, dropping his eyes.

Bruce sighed and rested his head against Jonathan's. "The toxin is what brought me here. The press was talking about the Scarecrow being in Chicago before the you gassed the mugger. If you keep using it, the police will find you. You'll wind up in Arkham no matter what I do."

That tiny spark of hope reignited. He might not be sent back to Arkham. He just had to encourage that line of thinking.

Unfortunately, the only way to do that was to agree not to use his fear toxin. But could he? Could he give up the one foolproof method he had to protect himself?

On the other hand, he was running out. And making more would be expensive, time consuming, and have the potential to blow his cover. When he'd worked at the doctor's office, it would have been easier to get what he needed. As a waitress, it'd be much harder.

Which meant it was in his best interest to give it up.

Which meant he'd be defenseless.

Jonathan looked up at Bruce, heart in his throat. "If I agree to stop using my fear toxin, would you teach me how to defend myself? Better, I mean. "

Bruce tilted his head. "You would really give it up?"

The very idea terrified him. But going back to Arkham would be worse. Giving up Sugar would be worse.

He hesitantly nodded his head.

Bruce grinned, his face lighting up. "I can teach you to defend yourself." He pulled Jonathan into his lap and kissed him softly. "That's no problem. I'd feel safer, you know. Leaving you." He swallowed, a strange little smile flitting over his lips. "If I knew you could defend yourself from attackers, I'd feel safer."

The little spark that had been burning inside Jonathan faded. His heart felt suddenly heavy, and his eyes prickled again. "And then you'd leave."

"Yeah." Bruce let out a breath. Leaned forward and rested their foreheads together. One hand rested on the back of Jonathan's neck, the other on his lower back. "I can't stay."

Jonathan nodded. Gripped Bruce's shoulders. "I know." He moved closer to Bruce, resting his head on Bruce's shoulder. He closed his eyes against the prickle, breathed through the heaviness in his heart. "I know."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Something was bothering me about part 9 when I first posted it, but I couldn't figure it out until Lauralot articulated it for me. Parts of this, particularly the beginning, are the same, but there is one major change and added sex. _

* * *

"The most vulnerable points on an attacker are their nose, solar plexus, instep, and groin. If you can't get to one, you hit whatever is closest. Knees, too," Bruce said. "You want to shock them into releasing you. Hit them hard enough it hurts. Once you do, run."

Jonathan nodded, clenching his hands on his knees. It would be a lot easier to pay attention to what Bruce was saying if he wasn't Bruce Wayne. Billionaire playboy and gorgeous to boot. Okay, yes, they'd been kissing yesterday, but Jonathan was still having difficulty reconciling David Mills, private detective, with Bruce fucking Wayne, Prince of Gotham.

"Jonathan?"

He blinked. Smiled weakly at Bruce. "Sorry. I was distracted." Unconsciously, his eyes dropped to Bruce's mouth, which was unencumbered by the false mustache and goatee today.

Bruce cleared his throat. Made an abortive movement to Jonathan. "Um. Right." Then he moved. Pressed their lips together. Stepped back. "So, uh… from what you've told me, you've got the getting away part down. You're able to fight. You just need to remember to run."

"I don't want to get away. I want them disabled and incapable of coming after me," Jonathan said, dazed.

"I know. But it's better to get away."

"Is it, Batman?"

Bruce knelt in front of him. Covered Jonathan's hands with his huge, calloused ones. "You aren't me. I have trained and trained for what I do. I put myself through things no sane man would dare. And I do it to protect innocent people. To get the scum off the street. To protect people like you from having to worry about the scum. But since I can't always get there, I can't stop everyone, you need to learn to get yourself away and let the authorities deal with them."

Jonathan raised his eyebrow. Shook his head. "I'm not exactly sane. And I don't trust the authorities any more than I do the scum."

"Then pepper spray them and run. But you cannot make them go insane."

He sighed. "I know."

Bruce kissed him on the forehead and stood. "What you need to do is concentrate on not letting your panic take over. Keep your mind clear so you can react in such a way that allows you to get free and run."

"I'm not you. "

"You don't have to be. Just remember to breathe." He demonstrated by taking a deep, cleansing breath.

Jonathan had to fight the urge to smack him. "Don't pull this bull with me, Bruce. I'm a psychiatrist. I've done breathing exercises with clients."

"Do you use them yourself? Because when that guy grabbed you at the bar, you held your breath. I saw it catch. You weren't thinking, you were going on instinct, and part of that was because your brain wasn't getting oxygen." He took Jonathan's hands. Tugged him off the bed. "Sit."

"I don't…"

"Please. Just try it."

His face was hot as Jonathan sat on the floor across from Bruce. He had, of course, researched the effect of breathing on the mind. He'd taught meditation to patients, seen the effects, even used it to lull them into a sense of security.

But he'd never worked on it himself. There was something embarrassing about having to practice breathing. It was beneath his dignity. Jonathan Crane was a genius. He should not be subject to this whims of an overactive adrenal gland.

But. But, he'd only stopped trembling from the attack at Dreamgirls in the early hours of the morning. And, Bruce was right; Jonathan hadn't been thinking. If he had, he'd never gone for his toxin while the Batman was in the room. It was folly.

He could always blame his weakness on side effects of the toxin. Maybe he'd never had the perfect control of his reactions he desired, but it had been infinitely better before his decent into madness.

It would be just like having to take medication to manage it. Just the same.

So, he pulled his legs into a semi-lotus position. Put his hands on his knees again and took the deepest breath he could. He let it out in a rush.

"Good," Bruce said. "But this time, I want you to let it out slowly. Breathe in slowly, out slowly. With me." He demonstrated.

Jonathan did was Bruce did. Together, they sat and breathed. Took deep, slow breaths, in and out, in and out.

He could feel his mind slowing down. He'd never admit it, especially not to Bruce, but there was a sudden languidness to his thoughts. His mind was always something of a mad rush of ideas and formulas, theories, and analysis pinging constantly. He'd learned long ago to divide his attention, to concentrate on several tasks at once to the deficit of none. It could be exhausting, keeping up with himself. It left him with little to no time to tolerate other people-slower people- or foolish rules of conventional society.

It was better as Sugar. She was more methodical in her thought process. She allowed him to turn off parts he didn't need, concentrate on the observing those around him, calculating their next moves, following their thought process.

This was out of his experience. Sitting across from Bruce, breathing with him. Jonathan's mind slowed, the constant noise muted. The world stopped its frantic pace and Jonathan… Jonathan relaxed.

A decade of serenity passed before Bruce said, "Very good. You're going to do the same thing now. Only, I'm going to grab you. You can attack me, try to get free, but try to keep your mind calm."

"How am I supposed to be afraid if I know what you're going to do?" Jonathan asked. "Part of the fear of being attack is not knowing its coming."

Bruce got to his feet. "I know. So…" He trailed off as he went to the dresser. Picked something up and walked back over.

Jonathan's heart sank, but he said nothing. Just stood and turned around to indicate his consent.

"You know I won't hurt you," Bruce said as he tied the fabric around Jonathan's eyes. "You're safe in here."

"I know." And he did. He was, at times, terrified of this man, yes, but he trusted him, too.

The blindfold tightened. The knot was a heavy weight at the back of Jonathan's head, trapping him, sealing his eyes, keeping out the light.

He took a deep breath. "Okay, so…"

He was cut off by a heavy body slamming against him. A huge hand clamped around his throat and cut off his airway.

Jonathan panicked. Mind black, he threw his head back, connecting with Bruce's. The hand around his neck eased, but didn't let go. He threw his arm back, into Bruce's stomach. Wrenched himself away. Broke free and scrambled onto the bed, turning, hand reaching for his…

"Breathe!" Bruce commanded. "You don't have your toxin, your goal is to get away from me. Breathe and calm down!"

"I can't." He dropped to his knees on the bed. Crawled, searching for something, anything that he could use. Took deep, painful breaths, air raking into his lungs. The bed shook at Bruce came at him.

Jonathan's hand closed around something. He turned, smashing it onto Bruce's head.

"Fuck." The bed shook. There was a loud thump on the floor.

Jonathan ripped the blindfold from his eyes. Scrubbed his trembling hands over his face. "I don't want to do this anymore."

Bruce pulled himself onto the bed. "I'm sorry. But I couldn't give you time to think. Maybe next time, but I wanted to show you. You can get away, Jonathan, but once you did, you went for your toxin." His shook his head. "But even with it not there, you still got me. Just keep breathing and fight until you can run."

He nodded, a jerky, spasmodic movement. He shook all over. His heart was pounding, and his eyes were wet.

"I'm sorry I scared you." Bruce moved closer to him. Hesitated before he put his arms around Jonathan. "Just breathe, Sugar. Deep breaths. You're safe."

Jonathan clenched his fist in Bruce's shirt. Clung to him. "You're a bastard," he said, his head resting on Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce sighed. Kissed the top of Jonathan's head. "I know."

They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for Jonathan to get his octopus arms around Bruce and clung. For Bruce to lay them down and stroke Jonathan's back in long, firm movements. All the while, they breathed, Bruce leading the charge, taking slow, deep breaths that Jonathan found himself following despite everything.

To his amazement, the shaking started to ease. Then, it disappeared completely.

He lay there, drowsy and relaxed, as Bruce pet him. Soothed him. Pressed kisses against his forehead and breathed with him. Made him feel safe.

It was nearly an hour later when Jonathan stirred. Blinked, coming back from the drowsy doze he floated on. "Are we going to do that again?" he asked. He focused his eyes on Bruce's shirt. Ran his fingertips over Bruce's chest, tracing patterns on the plain black fabric.

"We should. But only if you want to."

He nodded. Let out a long, slow breath. "Just, give me a few minutes."

"Okay."

Jonathan untangled himself from Bruce's embrace. He slid off the bed and went to the bathroom. He'd placed an overnight bag (borrowed from Cherry) at the door earlier, and now took it inside, closing the door behind him.

He'd brought his favorite blue dress. The one that swirled around his legs, that made him feel graceful and light. He was already wearing Sugar's underwear underneath his clothes, so all he needed to do was apply his make-up. Cherry had advised against wearing a wig, saying that it would trap heat against his head and make him redder than a tomato. Instead, she showed him how to style his increasingly shaggy hair into a style that would look both feminine and pretty.

The make-up was almost like war paint. It made him feel brave. It calmed him down.

Jonathan gazed at his face, at Sugar's face. Took a deep breath. His lips twisted into an involuntary smile.

He looked pretty.

His stomach jumped with a thousand nervous butterflies as he slipped back into the main room.

Bruce was sitting on the bed, his forearms resting on his thighs. He looked up with Sugar walked into the room. He inhaled sharply, pupils dilating.

Jonathan cleared his throat. "I, um. I wanted to try like this. Just… try it."

Bruce nodded. Rose. "Probably a good idea."

"No blindfold this time."

"No. Whatever you want. You need to be comfortable."

He nodded and self-consciously ran his fingers over his hair. Everything was different from before. The tension had ratcheted upwards at least 52%. It wasn't just him being nervous. It was Bruce. It was Bruce's reaction to Sugar.

Bruce came and stood in front of him. "We'll practice some frontal attacks. Same weak spots: instep, nose, stomach, groin. If someone comes at you from the front, aim for their nose with the heel of your hand." He demonstrated. "Then, pretty much in one movement, bring your knee up to their groin. You don't want to give them a chance to think. Your attacker might grab you before you get to their nose, but they probably won't be expecting your knee. I want you to try that."

He swallowed. "I don't want…" He trailed off, realizing how stupid he'd sound if he finished that sentence.

But Bruce just shook his head like he was taking Jonathan seriously. "I'm going to block you, but not hard. Just so you don't break my nose or anything." He flashed a lopsided smile. "You come at me full strength though."

"Okay." He took a deep breath.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

Bruce lunged.

Without thinking, Jonathan stepped back, throwing his arm out wildly. He stumbled over his heel.

"Don't back away. Step towards me. You'll have be more power in your movements if you come to me. And straight out, like this." Bruce demonstrated. "Try it."

"Okay." He tried it a few times until Bruce nodded.

"Same thing, only at me." He lunged at Jonathan again.

Once more, Jonathan's instinct was to move back, but he stopped just in time. Took a step forward, breathing in deeply. His arm shot out.

Bruce caught it with a gentle grasp. "Knee."

Jonathan brought it up at Bruce's groin.

Bruce sidestepped, a smile breaking out on his face. "Good! Let's try it again." He stepped back. Moved to attack.

It felt more natural this time. A little. He lunged, intent on Bruce's nose. Came closer than last time, before Bruce caught it.

"This time," Bruce said, letting go of Jonathan's hand, "I'm going to block you and pull you to me. I want you go with it and try punching me."

"Where?"

"Solar plexus. Nose if you can. Use the momentum to give you strength. Anytime you can, use your attacker's strength against him."

Jonathan nodded. A wave of nervousness swept over him, followed by a full body tremor. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"We can stop," Bruce said.

"No. No, I'm ready." He opened his eyes again.

Bruce caught his eyes a long moment before he nodded. Then he stepped forward, his face becoming a blank mask as he attacked.

Jonathan's breath caught, but he forced himself to breathe. Not to back up, but to step towards Bruce, aiming the heel of his palm at Bruce's nose.

As he said, he caught Jonathan by the wrists, a trifle more roughly than he was expecting.

He wavered, tripped a few steps, but let Bruce pull him in. He couldn't get himself together enough to punch, so he grabbed Bruce's shoulder. Raised his knee, aiming for Bruce's crotch.

Bruce blocked it with his free hand. "Pretend you got me," he said. "I'd let you go." He released Jonathan's wrist. "And, I'd be in pain, so…" He dropped to his knees, hands covering his crotch. "What would you do?"

Jonathan shook his head. "I'm not sure."

"You have some choices. You could go for my nose like before. You could box my ears. Poke my eyes. Remember, you want to debilitate me with pain and get away."

His head buzzed with the possibilities. Every instinct told him to grab his toxin. Even when he pushed the notion aside, all he could come up with was to run. But he was supposed to do something. Incapacitate his attacker. Stop him from running after him.

"Jonathan?"

And, just like that, he knew what he wanted to do.

He walked to Bruce until the hem of his dress brushed Bruce's body. Swallowed, clenching his fists against a sudden tremble. Then he reached out. Threaded his fingers through Bruce's hair, cupped it in the palms of his hands.

Bruce tilted his head back. Closed his eyes.

Jonathan kissed him. Lowered himself into Bruce's lap, arms wrapped around his next, and gave himself over. His body burned, his heart pounded.

"You're so beautiful," Bruce whispered against his mouth. He kissed Jonathan's top lip. His bottom lip. His jaw. Ran his fingers over Jonathan's neck and his shoulders.

He couldn't say anything in return. He was too busy falling into Bruce. Bruce's mouth and his skin. His hands and hair and body and… and…

Bruce picked him up. Not like a romantic, side sweep like he'd done at the bar, but just wrapped his arms around Jonathan's waist and stumbled back towards the bed. Together, they tumbled onto it, Jonathan on top, still fused at the mouth.

He was shaking again, but he didn't care. It wasn't fear, he wasn't scared. He'd never felt like this, and he wanted more. He found himself tearing at Bruce's shirt, tugging and pulling it up over his head.

Somehow they got all tangled up. Jonathan sat up. Frowned.

Bruce, lost in shirt, laughed. "I think maybe we need to slow down just a little."

"Maybe. But I should be able to undress another person. It's not a difficult task." He clenched his fists to hide the shaking and tried to ignore how put out his voice sounded.

Bruce laughed again. Sat up and pulled the shirt off in one smooth movement. "There. That's better." He lowered himself next to Jonathan, stretched out beside him. With a light touch, he traced Jonathan's face.

Jonathan swallowed. Closed his eyes.

"Are you all right?" Bruce's fingers continued to trail over him, tracing at Jonathan's neckline before stroking lower.

He blushed. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Bruce cupped Jonathan's cheek. "Don't think. Just work on instinct."

"Should I remember to breathe?" he asked ironically.

He laughed. Kissed Jonathan, a sweet, kiss that lingered long after it was over. "Breathe and feel," Bruce whispered. "The rest, we'll figure out together."

He swallowed.

"Jonathan, look at me."

He forced his eyes open.

Bruce took his hand. Kissed his fingertips. "I'm not going to hurt you. We're not going to do anything you don't want to."

"I don't want to be a… tease."

"We are not going to do anything you don't want to." Bruce leaned down and kissed Jonathan.

It was easy to give himself over. To let his fears go and kiss back. It was less easy to let his hands trail over Bruce's bared skin, but it was there and soft and he encouraged Jonathan's exploration with soft encouragements.

Bruce slid his hands underneath Jonathan. Unzipped the zipper. Jonathan lay passive, panting, as Bruce sat up. Slid rucked the dress up to Jonathan's middle, then slipped it over his head.

A groan escaped Bruce's throat, and he rubbed over the satin of Jonathan's panties. "God, you drive me insane," he whispered.

Jonathan snorted.

Bruce shot him a look before cupping Jonathan through the thin fabric. "May I suck you off?"

His breath caught. Cheeks flooded with warmth and he found himself pressing into Bruce's hand.

Bruce seemed to take that as a yes. He moved between Jonathan's legs. First, he undid the garters holding up the white stockings. Then, he unhooked the garter belt, laid it aside, before sliding the panties down Jonathan's legs.

Jonathan covered his eyes, embarrassed at the way his cock strained up to his belly, hard and aching. And then a hot wetness covered the head.

"Oh." He immediately bit his lip, but was too engulfed by sensation to be properly embarrassed. He'd never… there was fire racing up his spine, radiating out. His skin tingled and he couldn't stop his hips from writhing on the bedspread. His legs moved restlessly, in and out, kicking until Bruce caught them. Placed them over his shoulders and took Jonathan in further. Sucked harder, tongue pressing. A high whine built in Jonathan's throat. Thunder roared in his ears. He strained, fisting at the bed, letting go of his lip, mouth falling open, panting. Soft, urgent sounds escaped his throat and sweat beaded on his forehead. Rolled down his neck.

And then Bruce shifted Jonathan's body. Moved up to the sensitive head, sucking at it. Licking it. His hand stroked what his mouth didn't touch, fingers caressed Jonathan's balls and…

Jonathan flew apart. The world shattered around him in a red haze and he just… floated on it. Road the rush, feeling nothing but the pleasure coursing through his body.

When he finally opened his eyes, he found Bruce lying next to him once more. He had a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he stroked Jonathan's torso, eyes fastened on his face.

Jonathan blinked at him, feeling lazy. Sated. "What are you smirking at?"

"You. When you came, you looked so… so free." He leaned in. Kissed Jonathan softly. "And I'm the first to see you like that."

He couldn't summon the energy to blush. "What about you?" He reached out, his hand falling limply against Bruce's chest. "What should I…"

Bruce silenced him with another kiss. "Right now, you should lay there and feel good. We've got plenty of time to play." He kissed each of Jonathan's eyes. "Just let me hold you."

Feel warm and sleepy, Jonathan snuggled into Bruce's embrace. Being held sounded perfect.


End file.
